A Day In The Life, Movie Three
by Anotherjaneway
Summary: Home and work life clash both at the fire station and at Rampart when nothing goes according to plan, on the radio, or off the air. Dixie inherits the role of mentor from her neighbor. NOW COMPLETE.


This is a text version of the original still airing imaged, music soundtracked story.

Emergency Theater Live, Episode Fifty Six

56: A Day In The Life, Movie Three, Season Nine - Episode 56.

Notes: The plot line for this movie length episode was chosen by vote by readers of the audience on Emergency Theater Live's writer's group. (This story will stray from canon facts and the world seen on the actual TV show by showing the home lives of the characters.)

. /group/EmergencyTheaterLive/surveys?id=2678073

Short summary-

Home and work life clash both at the fire station and at Rampart when nothing goes according to plan, on the radio, or off the air. Dixie inherits the role of mentor from her neighbor.

***WARNING**** The long summary to come is very story spoiling and will take away plot surprises if you read it now before reading the longer story below it.

Decide now if you want to read this episode's detailed summary before doing so.

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Long Summary

Part One

Dixie is awakened late at night by a restless elderly neighbor, who remembers her life as being saved by the nurse following cardiac arrest a month before. She drops a bombshell surprise when she expresses an interest in becoming a nurse like Dixie in gratitude at age 94. Kel and Joe begin to recommend ideas on how to handle the neighbor's infatuation at Rampart when a Condition Orange erupts in town consisting of a prison break and accompanying gang riots city wide in Carson. An early evening buzzer bell at the back door surprises the gang when they find an abandoned newborn baby, forcibly torn from its mother womb outside, left as bait by two escaped life time murderer convicts. A hostage situation begins. Boot is shot and Chet injured following a viscious shove during the initial encounter. The traumatized newborn baby is stabilized by Roy and Johnny. The two prison escapees set up house with the gang and use frequent threats to keep order. Chet is emergency treated for a ruptured lung blister which sends him into shock. A Los Angeles County medical examiner is called into Rampart to handle the riots' dead coming into triage. Morton, Early and Brackett struggle to keep up with the triage operation they set up in Rampart's outdoor cafeteria courtyard. Shoulder shot, Boot the dog knocks over Chet's fallen HT radio left abandoned in the bay and inadvertently activates its push to talk button. Sam Lanier discovers the open channel broadcasting from the vehicle bay. One of the convicts develops an obsessive interest in the newborn baby girl's welfare. At a missed fire response reply back from Station 51, Sam dispatches a communications repair truck to Station 51 to fix the problem.  
One of the radio repairman goes inside to contact the gang and is taken hostage. Headquarters HQ dispatch is alerted to Station 51's hostage situation through the open mic'd HT radio that Boot had bumped and begins to plan a tactical rescue from their end. The county coroner shanghai'd into service by Dr. Brackett discovers the dead mother's missing baby using forensics during her autopsy and goes investigating the murder scene in the alleyway behind Station 51 with his lab assistant. A blood trail leads him to suspect foul play has taken place inside of Station 51. He warns off the radio repairman's partner from making a foolish decision and sends him to go summon help remotely. The M.E. decides to masquerade as a riot victim in order to get inside the station to find the lost baby and learn more about the sieged fire station gang. The coroner's boss and an L.A.P.D. lieutenant set up shop at L.A. County H.Q. to mount a response to Station 51's hostage crisis using information learned through the open HT radio channel still broadcasting from Station 51. The coroner is let into the station after a feigned victim act.  
The reality of the convicts' actions weigh heavily on them as discussion of the truth is shared by all. One suffers a mental breakdown and the other surrenders physically. The gang organizes further emergency care and transportation for Chet, the newborn baby, and Boot. The coroner's assistant warns about their boss's future fall out. Roy and Johnny treat Chet and the baby en route to Rampart and realized the ordeal has impacted them more profoundly than first thought. Dixie, Sharon Walters and a police detective meet the gang at Rampart to begin to sort out treatment for the injured and start an investigation. Johnny and Sharon reveal that they are dating to Roy.

Part Two

Dixie gives Chet a little tough love to begin his emotional recovery at Rampart. The gang has trouble handling the aftermath of the hostage situation at Rampart. They internalize different coping tactics. The Rampart staff and the coroner and his staff plan contingencies for Station 51's probable PSTD effects. Chet is stuck with Dixie's neighbor as a candy striper. Roy and Johnny suffer unexpected effects after going home.  
Relief from stress alters the behavior of Rampart staff in unexpected ways.  
The county coroner decides to get involved with the gang's recovery from post traumatic stress disorder. Dixie McCall heads over to the vet hospital to pick up Boot for Station 51, when a thunderstorm strands her there. Marco and Stoker stave off a mild diabetes crisis in Lopez's mother at a brunch get together over at Mike's house. The county coroner's girlfriend RN flirts with Chet to make him feel better. Captain Stanley suffers an emotional fallout crisis at Brice ends up on Johnny's ranch house doorstep, injured by a mudslide. Dixie fails to report to work and Brackett asks the county coroner and his assistant to check up on her whereabouts to see if she is weathering out the storm at the vet hospital. Emily arrives at Rampart with a PSTD effected Cap to visit the hostage baby. 905 Wild Animal control officers Les Taylor and Dave Gordon fail to reach Veterinarian Dr. Coolidge by radio at the vet hospital. Officer Vince Howard meets them in a lights and sirens squad to inform them of a mudslide that may be effecting the shopping mall where the vet hospital is located. The three men begin to mount a search and possible rescue from their vehicles. Craig Brice recovers from his hypothermia to tell Gage and Sharon Walters about the county fire department all call concerning mudslides from the storm in five cities. They begin to pack up to respond despite Gage's administrative medical leave status. Chet meets up with Cap and his wife in the abandoned baby's hospital room and they talk their emotions out about the hostage aftermath. Gage, Brice and Sharon Walters head out into the storm to gather up all the Station 51 gang to help with ensuing mudslides. Roy talks to his kids about the hostage crisis he lived through at the station. Gage, Brice and Sharon Walters recruit Roy to response to a landslide buried shopping center near Boot's vet hospital. The L.A. coroner and his assistant meet up with Vince Howard and the two shelter animal control officers and the four begin to mount a rescue operation to find Dixie and their coworkers. Gage assembles the last of the 51 gang not at Rampart and together, they, Brice and Sharon Walters hurry in his rover to the shopping center where Boot is hospitalized. Dr. Brackett confronts Chet about the mudslide effecting the shopping mall where Dixie went to get Boot from the animal shelter hospital. Dr. Morton sees progress in Cap's emotional crisis and in the orphaned newborn that Hank had helped rescue. The coroner and his assistant, Vince, and the two animal control officers discover Boot's vet, his secretary, and Dixie lying injured in mud. They affect immediate emergency medical care. Despite fast treatment, McCall slips into cardiac arrest, forcing the coroner, Boot, and the others to act. Quincy and the others barely manage to save Dixie using a dog sized defibrillator and some ingenuity. The Station 51 gang and Sharon arrive to the disaster scene and meet up with their patients and the M.E. folks.  
Every one injured is recovering when the mountain surrounding the shopping mall sloughs them and an entire city block onto a giant river of mud. The gang summons help. Dixie awakens without the ability to feel her legs. Quincy figures out that Dixie is suffering from a temporary lightning paralysis. Gage and Brice have a heart to heart about PTSD and their likelihood of surviving. Stoker improvises high angle gear from debris scraps. Cap and Chet rally and abandon Rampart to assist the fire department heads overseeing the mall incident.  
Brackett sneaks Morton and Cap sneaks Chet out of the hospital to try and get to Dixie. Dixie suffers breathing failure due to her lightning strike and is put on life supporting measures. Sharon Walters and Boot break down emotionally. Cap and company sneak around the mall incident command after information about rescue plans and Dixie's current condition, but are found out by the two animal control officers. The victims under the trapped paramedics' care begin to improve but not before the mudslide underneath the building speeds up, bringing down the roof of the vet hospital on top of them.  
Chet hears Vince calling for help over the radio. Smoke jumpers are sent in, to start mounting a rescue. A moving aerial belay stokes line is rigged between their floating island and a moving ladder truck. The vet falls to his death when a tree snaps the line. The Station 51 gang is reunited all together under Dr. Morton's watchful eye. Dixie is teased in her hospital bed before being taken out to the coroner's favorite restaurant to toast the late vet.

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The Story Unfolds...

Season Nine, Episode Fifty Six A Day In The Life Debut Launch: July 1st, 2011.

**************************************************   
From: patti keiper (pattik1 )  
Subject: Sugar and Spice and Everything... Sent:Thu 7/21/11 1:30 AM

Riinnnng!

".. Ahhh!" mumbled Dixie as she nap jerked awake on her rumpled canopy bed as her front apartment door bell suddenly rang. "OhmyG*d.." she groaned, her muscles following betraying instincts as they got her to her stumbling feet to fetch a robe.  
McCall's groggy expression gelled into an irritated scowl as the angle of the moon through her bedroom window told her what time it was. "Five a.m.?!" she blurted out.  
Feet finding soft slippers, McCall felt her way into the living room without turning any lamps on to spare her sleep crusted eyes. "This had better be a fire or I'm.."

She jerked the door open.."...Hi, Mrs. Fishmeyer? What are you doing here at my door? Are you feeling sick?" she said sweetly, her tone barely keeping ice from casual politeness.

"No, no.. I'm fine dearie.." said Millicent as she shoved on by Dixie and reached out for the nearest light switch.. "I just need to borrow a small cup of sugar."

"Oh, no..no..no. Don't-!" Dixie simpered in horror.. Flick! "AHHH!" grunted, falling back against the wall as her nosy neighbor sent unwanted light bulb illumination deep into her headache-y brain. "Okay. I guess a trip and fall wouldn't be so good for someone at your age, Millie." she grunted, covering her eyes with her messy frosted hair.

Millicent just beamed as she helped herself to Dixie's cupboard for the sugar bowl she knew was there. "I'm only 94, Dixie. A few more lumps wouldn't make that much difference in my case. I had two feet stuck firmly into the grave a month ago."

"I know. I'm the one who found you in cardiac arrest by your petunias and called the fire department."

Millicent's sweet silver eyes twinkled. "I figured you owed me one since you broke three ribs along my sternum doing that car-deal-plumbing-regurgitation thing on me."

"That's cardiopulmonary resuscitation, Millie. C.P.R? You were dead. I had to do something. Your eyes were still reactive to light." McCall told her, sinking miserably down onto a breakfast stool.

"Oh, yeah? Well, so are yours from the looks of things. Did you and Kel do too much hosting at your party last night? We all heard the racket." she said, digging out a crumpled plastic bag from her quilted sea green flannel robe pocket.

"From the community room? Millie that's over five hundred feet away from everybody's apartment." Dixie insisted, joining Millie in the kitchen to help herself to a cold glass of water she got from the tap in the sink.

"I had the windows open. Ninety two degrees isn't hot enough for me."

Dixie eyed up her neighbor professionally. "You're still feeling cold? And you waited this long to tell me..." she pegged accusingly. "It's five in the morning."

"5: 03, dearie. Look at your watch. I can't be that bad, I'm hungry. So I decided I'd bake some cookies. Hence the sugar loan." gestured Millie at her barely filled baggie that she was filling with one tiny one eighth measuring spoonful at a time, myopically.

"Humor me, Millie. I'm going to check you out." said McCall, reaching into another cupboard to pull out Kel's medical bag. She dragged out a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. "Sit down."

"I'm not done getting the sugar yet."

Dixie upturned the whole bowl into Millie's bag dramatically and tied the large baggy swiftly shut with a deft knot. "Yes you are. See?"

Millie sat, cowed reluctantly. "My pulse rate's fine. Ever since that shock Roy and Johnny gave me, I swear I can hear my heartbeat inside my ears."

Dixie snorted as she wrapped a cuff around Millie's thin rosy arm. "I'd be listening for my pulse, too, if a bee stung me and stopped my heart cold." she scoffed, blowing loose bangs out of her way as she read the dial. "So, speaking of which, are you?"

"I'm freezing." Millie peeped.

"Your pressure's normal, thank G*d." Dixie said, sighing as she released the air on the band. "I'll fix you a cup of hot tea."

Millie nodded her thanks, still sitting quietly on Dixie's bar stool. Then she leaned over and whispered in a conspiratory tone. "So, was Chet really there at your party?"

Dixie dropped her head from where she was setting a tea kettle onto the gas stove. "Yes, he was. And yes, he's still cute as ever. But he's already got a girlfriend. A real serious one."

Millie was disappointed. "Oh, yeah? Who?" she asked curiously.

"I can't tell you that. It'd be an invasion of Mr. Kelly's privacy." Dixie told her kindly but firmly.

"Aww, Dixie. I wouldn't tell a soul. I'll bet she's really cute."

McCall didn't rise to the bait. She just got frank. "So why this sudden interest in a firefighter old enough to be your grandson? You've been at it for two weeks now."

"He saved my life. He was the one giving me octagon when I wasn't breathing."

"That's oxygen. And you remember that?" Dixie asked, surprised.

"Sure do." Millie blinked shyly. "I was floating all around all of you. And boy was I embarrassed my shirt was torn off and wide open for the whole world to see."

"It was night time and it was just the seven of us in your garden. The neighbors didn't see you.  
They were all still sleeping." McCall prompted firmly. "Besides, it wasn't for long. I covered you up with a blanket as soon as we got your heart going because I knew how you'd feel about it all."

"I still got cold." Fishmeyer mused, accepting the tea Dixie finally poured her eagerly.

"That'll happen. So, how are you really? Something tells me that your visit tonight isn't just a simple little grocery borrowing call." Dixie grinned gently, patting Millie's age trembling freckled hand.

"I think I want to become a nurse at the hospital. I've had that notion in my head ever since I woke up there. Is that possible?" Millie asked, grasping Dixie's folded hands.

Dixie McCall's shocked mouth flopped open and just stayed there, the water glass in her hand completely forgotten in her fingers' grasp.

Photo: Dixie watching and smiling in a close up.

Photo: A depressed old lady in a chair.

Photo: Petunia beds in a garden.

Photo: Roy and Johnny treating a patient at night.

Photo: Chet, Marco and Stoker using a resuscitator.

Photo: An old lady on an ambulance cot.

Photo: Gage preparing an I.V. catheter.

Photo: Dixie standing in P.J. shorts looking worried.

Photo: An old woman with a cup of tea.

Photo: Dixie listening from her couch at home.

Photo: Dixie holding an old woman's hands, close up.

From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Sat 9/03/11 6:16 AM Subject: It's Never Black and White

"She's so sweet, guys. But what am I supposed to do?" Dixie moaned, practically running like taffy off of her emergency desk stool with indecision and mild anxiety.

Brackett shrugged. "What you've been doing for the last seventeen years, Dix.  
Delegate the responsibility. Mrs. Fishmeyer's request is, conveniently for us, not your department."

McCall dropped her head reluctantly to the side. "Yeah, but she's our neighbor, Kel. A good one. I can't just turn my back on helping her out a little."

Joe Early just smirked, his gray eyes sparkling beneath his silver bangs. "We already did. We saved her life last month. Millicent's bill has already been earned in full for services rendered as far as obligation and duty is concerned. Nobody said that included hand holding a ninety four year old through a nursing degree and training program, no matter how well we're acquainted with the patient."

Dixie's eyes remained dubious and full of guilt.

Kel's mouth twitched in irony. "You know.. If I recall right, only the reverse is true."

McCall drained her coffee mug unenthusiastically. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

Brackett moved carefully out of slapping range before he clarified. "Roy and Johnny saved your life; they were practically bound to it while you were training them. Remember almost being squished by a certain fast falling car?"

That cracked a very faint smile out of the petite nurse that was impossible to hide. "I am being a little ridiculous, huh?" she asked, keeping her eyes lowered to the desktop.

"Yep. No train, no pain." Kel grinned right back at her once she had glanced back up again at them.

Dixie finally handed out the two admittance chart stacks she had been preparing for the doctors while they talked. "These are ready. All they need are your signatures."

Early nodded in agreement with Kel's sentiment. "Send her on to Volunteering, or off to the nursing school at Ojai. Your schedule's full enough as it is."

Kel snorted. "Even if it has been a little slow in the case load depart-"

Dixie's eyes widened from coaxed happy to horrified. "No..no..no..no. Don't say it. You'll jinx-"

The emergency desk station phone rang immediately. The red one.  
Dixie just closed her eyes in defeat after glaring daggers at Kel acidly.  
She picked up the receiver from the wall. "Rampart Emergency, this is Nurse Dixie McCall speaking." Suddenly, she was snapping her fingers at Joe for a blank doctor's notes chart sheet to write on. "Okay,..how many?"

Joe and Kel looked at each other in anticipation and Dr. Brackett almost began to speak.

Dixie held up a one moment finger. "..Uh huh...Got it. Okay. We'll be ready in ten minutes." She hung up the phone.

Kel was all business. "What do we got?"

Dixie reported from her notes. "That was L.A.P.D. They've just had a prison break and riot gone bad. Not only are a lot of inmates and officers wounded, but one or two felons actually got out and got away and are assumed to be still shooting up the west side of town somewhere in Carson. We've eighty minor, and five critical coming our way."

Dr. Brackett started snapping out orders. He grabbed a passing orderly's sleeve to get his attention. "Go find Sharon Walters. Tell her to set up all the available rooms in the hospital with whatever general floor staff she has coming on shift. Right now."

"Yes, sir." the man replied and walked quickly away for the nearest stairwell.

"Joe.." Kel prompted. "Can you call Communications and have them tune into the scanner in the base station and have it piped out here? We're gonna need it for preliminary casualty estimates. And a TV set to the news wouldn't be such a bad idea either."

"I'm on it." said Early, picking up a black wall phone.

Dixie's mouth ironed out into one of concentration."I'll initiate a Code Orange.  
All off-duty personnel in an all-call page?" she asked both doctors.

"Yes. Including surgical and the residents' staff." replied Early.

"Especially Mike. He can sail that boat of his into the harbor if necessary if he's gotta get here fast. I have a feeling we may need his medical command skills from the navy in a triage operation out in the parking lot before all of this is over." Brackett gruffed. He watched the hallway call lights turn amber as McCall finished speaking with the hospital operator. Then they all heard the hospital intercom come to life.  
##Doctor Orange to Emergency. Stat. Doctor Orange to Emergency. Stat.##

Soon, those who could rendevous from in-house first for the crisis alert, were there.

Joe Early took over as the Logistics Head, leaving Brackett free to handle Rampart's incident command.

Joe motioned his assembled staff away from the desk into a close huddle along one wall of the corridor. "Listen up, people. We have an MCI of just under one hundred involving blunt trauma, burns, and a whole lot of GSW's." That drew a gasp from the younger med students standing close by their preceptor physicians.

"Sir, what the heck happened? Did a war break out?" asked one of them.

Joe smiled. "In a way, yes. Let's just call it another foray into the old cops and robbers game. And here's us, getting ready to do all the clean up. For a while, we won't know who's actually winning this one. And we won't care. We'll be treating both indiscriminately. Got it?"

A burble of affirmations met his ear.

"We are orange until further notice. Perform your assigned tasks and get ready to start receiving patients in five minutes. Let's move!" Early ordered.

-  
Station 51's exit bell on the door leading out to the backyard, rang just once.

"I'll get it!" said Mike Stoker, shooting up out of his chair. The lanky, soft spoken engineer beat Boot the dog out of the kitchen.

Hank started smiling with raised eyebrows. "Okay, who spiked the coffee with more coffee without telling him?" asked Cap.

Three magazine and newspaper laden hands pointed squarely at Gage.

"I didn't make the coffee!" Johnny said incredulously, his mouth still full of pilfered donut.

Chet Kelly scoffed. "No, but you did buy the jumbo sized filters instead of the smalls. You know how Stoker likes to measure out grounds by knuckle depth from the bottom." insisted the curly haired Irish fireman.

"Not my fault he's so unobservant five minutes after waking up from a nap." Johnny speculated, a half smile betraying the joke he was playing on the engineer.

Cap just narrowed his scruntiny, talking louder to be heard over Boot's excited yapping over a door bell call excursion. "Yeah? Well if we miss a turn today in the Ward and pile through a freeway wall into the L.A. River bed, the two of you are gonna be coming in after us."

Gage looked surprised in mock. "You had some doubt about that?"

Next to them, Roy hissed out a cautionary whisper. "Down, boys. It's the caffeine talking for the both of ya."

"Huh?" Johnny said, eyeing up his partner. "Oh, uh,.. sorry, Cap." he remarked sheepishly, raining crumbs all over Marco's sports page.

"Hey!" Lopez irritatedly shook them off with disgust.

Hank took in a deep breath and let it out again, offhandedly checking his own carotid with a few fingertips. "Racing, just like my mouth is. Ditto, Gage. Wow. Somebody go dump that thing out.." he said, pointing to the chrome coffee pot centered on the table, "..and replace it with a pitcher of ice water. We're gonna need it before too-" he broke off when Boot's noisy barking suddenly fell into silence.

Then Stoker's voice came high and squeaky. "Guys?! Get out here! On the double!"

The gang ran and skidded around the corner to the right to get there. Some of their urgency left as they approached when they heard Mike hook the door shut with a clever foot.

Something soft, yellow and billowy was in his arms. "You're not going to believe this. Look!" he said, his face still stunned and tight with concern.

Inside of a blood sodden flannel blanket lay a naked newborn baby, placenta and umbilical cord still attached.

Roy's fatherly and paramedic instincts kicked right in. "Whoa. Give her to me." he said about the weakly squirming infant, actively shivering in the gory mess surrounding her. He could still see signs of fresh birth purpling, around her head, arms and legs.

Gage immediately gripped her upper arm, feeling for the brachial artery. "Fast, but strong." He quickly eyed up the stains soaking up from the pool of blood cradled around the baby's tiny body and the amount dripping onto the concrete floor. "There's a lot of hemorrhage here, but none of it is hers."

DeSoto nodded, carefully tipping back the baby's head slightly so she could breathe better.  
"I agree. The cord's already drained out its volume on its own into her circulation and sealed itself off." He looked up at Hank in a new thought. "Cap, the mother can't be too far away yet.  
This afterbirth's still warm."

Hank popped open the door again and whistled at Boot. "Go find momma, boy. As fast as you can. She needs us badly."

With an eager whine, Boot launched himself into search dog mode with a single leap and was gone into the brightening sunrise outside in the backyard.

"Chet, follow him! Then get back here once you've got a lead on which way the mother might have headed. We'll let the police find her first." Hank ordered.

Johnny nodded. "She can't get far, Chet. She'll black out soon from all of that blood loss." he said, following Roy and the baby as he went running for the oxygen and drug boxes in the squad.

Kelly snatched a handy talkie from the engine's cab and was almost out the door when a shadow fell over the sunlight beaming into the bay. A gloved hand shoved back and slammed the door into Chet, blocking his path and knocking him backwards onto his butt. Cap and Marco startled.

"Not so fast, mister. You ain't going nowhere." came a deep gravelly voice from the sudden intruder as he forced his way into the fire station. A long muzzled gun suddenly pointed at Chet's face. "Nobody move, or hero boy here eats some serious lead."

A very large man stood there with a smaller male companion. And they were both wearing Los Angeles County prison orange.

Photo: Dixie with long hair looking skeptical.

Photo: Joe and Kel standing by a hospital door.

Photo: Cap, Chet and Marco grinning over donuts and coffee.

Photo: Mike Stoker and Roy smiling at the kitchen table.

Photo: Roy in closeup looking frightened.

Photo: A newborn baby with umbilical attached.

Photo: A Code Orange light on a wall, flashing.

Photo: A whole room full of L. . inmates in orange.

Photo: A shadowed man in a hood holding a gun on you.

************************************************** **  
From: patti keiper pattik1  
Subject: For Life... Sat Date: Oct 1, 2011 10:29 pm

Chet Kelly stayed on the floor, eyeing up the bald, armed convict who had pushed him down. Wisely, he made no grab for the handy talkie lying on the floor between them and he said no words at all as he fought to regain the wind that had been knocked violently out of him.

The gunman glanced over at his shorter, fire haired companion who quickly paced the whole distance around the vehicle bay at a nervous jog. "How many?" he growled at him, pulling perspiration drenched orange material away from his neck.

The smaller convict ducked his head. "This isn't all of them, Stu. I'm hearing noises in the kitchen."

Hank spoke up, still not moving his hands. "Uh, those are our two paramedics.  
They're not going to try anything. All they have on their minds right now is that baby.  
They brought her in there so they'd have a higher up place to treat her off the floor."  
Cap noticed some blood smears staining the orange material on Stu's jail colored jump suit. "The mother may be in trouble, too. H-Have you seen her?" he asked very softly, keeping his eyes downcast to show that he was offering no confrontation whatsoever.

Just talking proved to be too much. Stu paced over to Hank angrily and jammed the muzzle of his gun hard under the captain's jawline as he gripped his hair tightly in a control move. The others saw that he was taller than Cap easily by six inches or more and was a hundred pounds heavier. "We're asking all of the questions here! Not any of you fire boys!" he said a little wild-eyed with stress. But then his monstrous sudden rage was forced down in a very difficult mental battle. "But,...since you asked so nicely, I'll-" Stu broke off when an agonized, mournful howling from Boot outside began close by.

Stu's younger accomplice grinned, his mouth missing teeth underneath a mop of dirty and tangled red hair. "Aww. Ain't that sweet? Your mutt's found the rest of our bait already. That didn't take long." he sniffed, looking at a few bloody fingernails. "Stu, I told you the dumpster wouldn't work for hiding it." said the tinier man, his bloodshot blue eyes, bugging out of his acne scarred face.

Hank felt a sick stab of nausea when he realized that they were referring to a fresh corpse; the baby's mother. Behind him, Mike Stoker barely stifled a gag of horror. Cap dipped his head in subtle warning to his engineer not to provoke their sudden, emotionally unstable invaders.

On the floor, Kelly finally began to breathe again as air suddenly returned to his stunned body in great heaving gasps. In a few seconds, his eyes were no longer as glazed nor as frightened as before.

Cap never looked away from Kelly as he recovered slowly.

Stu finally shifted beady brown eyes away from the gang.  
"It's not like we had a lot of choices, Ice. There's still too many eyes out there with the rush hour on the freeway!" he snapped, pushing up a little harder on the gun pinning Cap's head under his huge hand.

The gang's expressions must have betrayed some unveiled disgust because the younger, red maned man just started grinning bigger. "What? Why the long faces, gentlemen? We're not baby killers. Babies don't squeal in any way that matters. Girls on the other hand, are notorious for running at the mouth exactly when you don't want them to." Ice explained coolly, trying to neaten his gore spattered hair with a few fingers.

Stu wasn't so relaxed. He turned a carefully calculating look at their fire station hostages. "One of you. Go call your dog in so he doesn't give away our fun little impromptu party crashing here to the neighbors."

For several numbing seconds, fear reigned and nobody moved. Then...

"I'll do it." said Marco, his face a little pale, but alert. He lifted his hands clear of his pockets as he volunteered himself for the task. On his way across the bay, he hoisted Chet back up to his feet with a helping hand.

"Easy, fireman.." Stu told him, twitching the gun muzzle towards the door as he stepped away from Cap in one swift, guarded move to cover Lopez with the gun.  
"All right, amigo. Yeah, you go fetch your fido. No tricks!" he said, shaking off the sweat that was dripping down his bald head. "Now, the rest of you. Join up with your do gooder friends in there. Move." he whistled, tossing a large hunting knife through the air from his sleeve for Ice to brandish at Lopez. "Kill him if he tries anything. A rise in body count can't make our life sentences any longer. Not any more." he frowned darkly.

Ice laughed maniacally. "Yeah, Stu. This is our swan song gig, as agreed. The city owes us big for all those past sh*tty public defenders they sent in. Time for some equal representation, wouldn't you say? We got us what? Six public lives for our two lives right here? We're gonna have ourselves a lot of fun tonight, now ain't we?"

Stu grinned quietly, full of calm menace, silently.

Marco opened the back access door and began whistling. "Here, Boot. Heel!" his voice cracked as he avoided touching the still wet bloody palm print one of the convicts had left there from their struggle to get inside the fire station.

In the kitchen, Roy and Johnny already had their gear out. Suction, oxygen and an emergency endotracheal airway. "I got her.." Gage said, connecting a neonatal bag valve mask to the end of the tiny tube DeSoto had placed into the baby's windpipe. He began bagging the newborn lightly. "She's on one hundred percent O2. Breathing's still not picking up."

"Keep at it. There still may be amniotic fluid left in her lungs." Roy said.

The tiny infant was no longer blue, but she was limp, like a crumpled toy doll on top of the bare kitchen table. The soaked blanket full of blood had been cast aside at their feet.

Roy was still listening apically to the baby's heartbeat with a stethoscope. "Placement's good. Her perfusion's holding. But we've got to get her warmer a.s.a. p. or we're gonna lose this pulse in a few minutes." he said, shoving the drained afterbirth and still intact umbilical cord out of the way with a practiced elbow.

Gage looked up from his resuscitation efforts. "Hey, Chet! Come in here and get the oven on quick! We're gonna use it as an thermal incubator until the ambulance gets here!"

There was no reply.

"Cap?" Johnny shouted again. "Did any of you guys hear me?"

A gunshot rang out, making both paramedics startle and flinch violently over their small patient.

"What the H*ll?!" Gage gaped, whipping his head around toward the vehicle bay.

A sharp keening yelp and scrabbling claws on concrete filtered in loudly through the kitchen door's cracks.

"Take this." Johnny said tossing his head at the ventilation bag attached to the unconscious baby. He grabbed up the nearest thing to him to use as a defensive weapon, one of the kitchen chairs, and lined up by the door. "Somebody just shot Boot! I saw him running away underneath the engine. There's blood all over the place."  
he said, after ducking back down from a fast peek through the window.

Roy crouched down behind the table after sliding the baby into his arms, wrapping her inside of a kitchen towel hastily. "Do you see the guys?!" he asked, scared as he kept up the baby's bagged breaths.

"No.. I'm gonna-" Gage hissed.

The kitchen door suddenly popped open.

Cap was the first one through the door. "Whoa!" he said, intercepting Gage's defensively swung chair with a firm grip. "It's me! There's two of them. Now put this down before they see it!"

Gage hastily complied and kicked it back over to the table with a backward foot just as Stu and Ice pushed the rest of the gang into the room before them.

"Well, well, well." said Ice, eyeballing up Roy and Johnny and all of their medical gear spread out in front of them. "How's our tiny tyke doing, boys?"  
he said, checking the muzzle of Stu's gun, for lingering smoke. "Earned a halo, yet?" he said, waving a plume of powder smoke away from his face animatedly.

DeSoto carefully rose and sat back down into a chair with his burden so he could stretch his patient out once again onto the table top for good manual ventilations.  
"She's alive. Is it safe to say that she's going to stay that way?" he asked the convicts, placing his other hand on the baby's chest to feel for rib cage rise as he kept on bagging her with oxygen from the tank.

"Oh, yeah. We like kids. We don't like dogs. Especially trackers like yours."  
said Ice.

"Cap, is he-" Johnny asked aside to Hank.

"I don't know."

Stu jerked his gun meaningfully. "Everybody just shut up and sit down!"

They sat.

Marco, Chet and Cap eased slowly onto the couch. Stoker and Gage slid into chairs surrounding Roy and the baby.

"Nobody reaches for anything from anywhere without my say so!" the convict thundered. "And that includes anything doctor for that pathetic lump of meat in your arms." he glared at Roy.

The large, bald, leader thug slowly surveyed the room, spotting the two wall phones. One by one, he methodically ripped the receivers off of their mounts, severing their cord cables.

Chet spoke through the corner of his mouth at Hank, squeezed in next to him.  
"What if we get a station call over the intercom, Cap?"

"We'll figure that out when it h-"

"He said quiet, firemen!" Ice yelled. "Or do I have to start slicing out a few tongues here? Shouldn't be too hard to do. That baby was easy to cut out."  
he said, holding up the blood stained knife that he had used outside.

Gage's face hardened into something unreadable and his widened eyes glittered in shock and anger. His gaze connected with Cap's asking the question and Cap replied with a small shake of his head to let both Roy and Johnny know about the mother's death at the hands of their kidnappers.

Johnny twitched with rage beside Roy who was calmness itself as old combat vet instincts kept him cool but aware and assessing the situation.  
He was already divorced from his hands which were automatically keeping the baby alive without his having to even think about it.

DeSoto used his non-threatening position with the baby girl to speak.  
"So you've got us. Now what happens?"

"What..?" Ice blinked, caught off guard by Roy's matter of fact question.

"We eat like kings for starters, medic man." said Stu grandly, waving the gun and his arms expansively. "You have no idea how awful prison food is, until you've been forced to eat the slop they dish out there." he said. "Ice,  
go see what these boys are gonna cook for us. Bound to be something good in the frig over there. These are fire fighters! They burn through a lot of calories in their line of work, don't they, while doing all those newsworthy heroics? Gotta be some really good grub around here considering all of that."

Chet was trembling and he barely hid a sudden grunt of pain as a muscle cramped in his side.

Hank noticed, glancing down at Kelly. He leaned away from him to lessen pressure against his side, realizing that Chet was still hurting from his collision with the convicts as they barged their way inside the station.

Kelly swallowed dryly and didn't look back at Cap to hide his condition.

Marco already knew something was amiss, but fear made him act foolish. "He needs to lie down now, Cap."

Ice overheard. "Who needs to lie down? Are we that scary?" he mocked.

Chet finally wiped his sweaty lip. "I do, sir. I was caught... by the door." he gasped.

Johnny was all analytical, from where he sat, watching Chet. "Is it your ribs?"

"Something... deeper." Kelly shook, his skin gray, his breathing gurgling oddly.

"Nobody moves!" Stu glared at them caustically.

Cap's anger finally rose. "If he gets worse..."

"It won't matter a peep." Stu said evenly, cradling his gun against his cheek, "Remember? We're both lifers." And with that both convicts began to laugh uproariously at their own private prison club joke.

Photo: An unconscious bloody baby.

Photo: Afterbirth

Photo: County Jail orange shirt lettering.

Photo: A convict in orange in Solitary.

Photo: An angry bald, shirtless convict with a tattoo.

Photo: A man aiming a gun at you gang style.

Photo: Roy and Johnny looking frightened at the kitchen table.

Photo: Chet lying nearly unconscious on the station couch.

Photo: Blood on a concrete floor.

Photo: Boot looking hurt in a close up.

************************************************** *  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Fri 11/18/11 5:36 AM Subject: Improvization

Gage kept on his barrage. "Chet, keep trying to breathe, but lightly.  
If there's a hole in one of your lungs, we don't want it to-"

"Shut up, bandaid boy!" The wild haired Ice hissed.

Stu countered. "Ice, pipe down. You're spoiling the party. Let 'em chatter.  
They're going to do it anyway. No harm done. They're all sitting down and doing what we want them to do nicely enough."

Slowly, the anxious, sweating, red haired convict got control of himself.  
Then he smiled. "All except starting to play sous chef."

Stu redirected the muzzle of his gun at Marco. "You. Start cooking.  
No tricks."

"All right." said Lopez. "I'm... heading for the frig." he pointed, rising to his feet and walking slowly into that direction without any sudden moves.

"Can he turn the oven on?" Roy asked.

"Why?" Ice countered as his eyes followed Marco warily.

"It's for the baby. We have to get her warm somehow or she's going to die on us."  
DeSoto said truthfully. "That's the safest way to stabilize her. Using heated water might burn her."

"Then hop to. Go ahead and bake the baby." Stu said quickly, his expression suddenly less amused, and more paternal. "Slowly now, medic man." he said when Roy stood and carefully picked up the oxygen apparatus by his chair with his free arm.

Even Ice changed his mood. "H-How's she doing? She's not hurt? I was very careful, Stu." he said, fretting at his companion.

Stu held up an encouraging palm at his companion. "I'm sure you were.  
I know you have kids of your own and know how to handle them." Then he turned to the paramedics. "Answer my little buddy, firemen."

"She's breathing on her own, but she's still in trouble. She's unconscious."  
Gage said, pointing to the endotrachael tube now attached to just some oxygen through the resuscitator's demand valve. He had seen that Roy had changed it to passive triggering to the tiny infant girl on inhalations.

Cap asked. "Is she strong enough to keep pulling in that O2 on her own?"

"Yes." Roy said. "The only thing keeping her down now is the cold."

"Then get her comfortable in some heat and leave her. Get to Kelly next." Hank ordered.

"Ah, ah, ah, big man. Did I say?" taunted Stu, lifting his chin.

Cap's lips pressed into a thin line but he held his peace. "No."

"Annnddd what comes next?" Stu gestured with the gun.

"He begs." Ice sniggered, chewing his gum more rapidly as he folded his arms together in high amusement.

Hank did not give in to pride or arrogance. "Please, can I get my fireman treated?" he said evenly, calmly, his earlier anger long faded away at the wisdom of Roy's own example of an easy demeanor with their captors.  
"It's not fun seeing him like this."

"Oh, I'll bet." Stu scoffed mildly. "Do you think I care whether he lives or dies?"

Hank finally raised his eyes to Stu's. "That's entirely up to you."

"Good boy. That's the right answer. Okay, Black Eyes." the bald convict said,  
glancing at anxiety ridden Johnny. "You and your partner. Grab your gear and start doing your rescue stuff. I'm feeling generous this hour."

"He needs oxygen." Gage said, once he hurried over to Chet's side and felt his carotid for a pulse rate as he lay gasping on the couch.

"Use the baby's." Ice taunted. "You've got enough."

"How?" Johnny asked, incredulously.

"Figure it out." Stu said, smiling, gesturing grandly.

DeSoto turned from where he had placed the towel wrapped newborn baby girl into a turkey pan underneath the warming heating coils of the broiler. "We can set him on the table, and prop his upper body upright on couch cushions to ease that breathing."

"He's good." Stu admired. "Combat medic?"

DeSoto nodded at the convict reluctantly.

"Looks like it might be time for some meatball surgery later perhaps?" Stu laughed, eyeing up Kelly appraisingly. "That I'd really like to see."

Gage shot off a dirty look.

Roy and Gage soon guided Chet between them and onto the kitchen table. They slid it against the counter nearest the oven where the baby lay so the oxygen they had could be shared on an extra line. They got Kelly's shirt cut away and off of him as they began their head to toe examination.

Kelly began coughing wetly as Gage listened to his chest with a stethoscope. "No, don't do that. It'll only make it worse."

Chet grabbed at Gage's shirt. "Pneumo?" he rasped, short of breath in spite of the high flow non-rebreather mask they had placed on him.

"Yes. It's a hemopneumothorax. Must have been a bleb that blew. Your ribs aren't broken at all. Sounds like you're bleeding around and into your right lung."

Roy looked up from taking a fast set of vital signs.  
"But your pressure's holding so far. 90/54."

Kelly grinned weakly. "No kidding. I'm not passed out yet." Then he grimaced. "Why does it hurt so bad?"

"An open bleb is still a wound, even though it ruptured on its own when you were knocked down. Your family must be prone to them. Want something for the pain?" Roy asked him.  
Chet nodded. "My sister is going to freak out." His forehead furrowed. "I can just imagine her face when I tell her I've got a popped lung zit."

DeSoto deftly gave him a measured shot of meperidine into a bicep and marked down the time onto a second run sheet near the baby's.

"Do I need an I.V.?" Kelly groaned. He had absolutely hated the moment of the injection.

Roy looked to Cap, who was shaking his head.

"Not yet." DeSoto told Kelly. "You're not that bad."

Gage got busy patching Chet up to an EKG monitor once he had wrapped the injured firefighter warmly into a shock sheet.

Cap spoke up. "Chet, I want to keep you mobile in case we have to... work a little."

"And work you shall do." Ice celebrated. "First a fine dinner, then a trip about the place closing a few window blinds and covering some windows... Then I don't know. We'll think of something else for all of yous to do."

"Beds. We're gonna need some beds. In here." Stu reminded.

"Yep. Near the baby so we two can enjoy hanging out with her." Ice agreed.

"Just let us know when and where." Hank said, not looking at them. His eyes were on their two patients, his priorities.

"Sinus tach... 126. Fairly expected." Johnny said out loud, reading off Chet's cardiac rhythm on the scope. "And no artifacts."

Chet rolled his eyes in irritation. "My pain isn't an M.I., Gage. Even I... know that."

"Better safe than sorry." Johnny told him tightly. "You've suffered trauma to the chest. Now shut up and just breathe. Shallowly. Or we will be doing that needle decompression you're constantly thinking about."

Kelly nodded nervously, his face paling as he obeyed.

Lopez quietly worked around them all, preparing enchiladas and refried beans.

Photo: Chet Kelly on oxygen.

Photo: Red haired convict on a bench.

Photo: Closeup of a disgruntled Cap.

Photo: A hand on a newborn baby's head on a blanket.

Photo: Marco Lopez in the kitchen.

Photo: Roy and Johnny looking pensive.

************************************************** *******  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Subject: Tale of the Dead Sent:Sat 11/26/11 7:30 PM

Dr. Quincy turned into the lab of the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner's Office with a grim, all business stride. He rubbed an ample nose beneath a sandy mop of short groomed hair quickly as he entered, going over his memory a minute ago of a phone call with the head of Rampart's Emergency Department. ::Oh, this is bad. Very bad if a hospital morgue overflows due to an event still in progress.:: he thought.

He caught the sight of his associate, Sam Fujiyama, bent dutiful over a forensic microscope next to an ice cold cup of coffee. Quincy smiled at the sight and put on his best game face as he took in a last deep breath to gather his very active thoughts. He approached him quietly in the darkness, clearing his throat gently. He always hated breaking the familiar but brilliant concentration of deep study in his young assistant.

"How's the Miller case coming?" Quince asked, wrapping thoughtful arms behind his back around his tan tweed jacket as he leaned back on his heels in a sham of casualness.

Sam looked up and raised one bushy black eyebrow as he swept back his white lab coat behind his elbows in mock humor. "You know you're not fooling anyone with that intro." he grinned at the fifties something coroner. "Your body posture's giving you away big time."

Quince lifted his head in affront. "Oh? How so? I thought I was hiding things pretty well there for a second."

Sam chuckled and set aside the tissue slide he had been working on. "You look like a kid in the candy store whenever really big business is brought to your attention. Especially if it's entirely unexpected like whatever this is. So what's going on, Quince? It can't be a bunch of earthquake fatalities because I haven't felt any tremors today."

The fake light and little boy expression faded out of Quincy's eyes into serious sadness. "It's a riot of epic proportions, sparked initially by a very large prison break where state penitentiary inmates got out and actually managed to escape."

"Oh, no." Sam said, genuinely horrified. "Where is it?" he asked, his angelic features twisting in sympathy.

Quincy dipped his head with a sigh.  
"Suburban Carson. Rioting's growing in most of the neighborhoods around the immediate vicinity of the prison. I think it's effecting an area the size of half a mile. I've been watching the news. The reporters are saying local gangs also caught the window of opportunity and are currently raising holy Cain on all the regular folks along with the inmates." Quincy replied, toying unnecessarily with the neat stack of client files Sam had out next to his work station. "I wouldn't be surprised if the governor calls out the National Guard soon."

"There's nothing like unwarranted civil unrest, is there?" Sam mumbled sarcastically. He rubbed a few sleepless, weary fingers through thick, black, wavy hair. "So, where are we headed?"

"Rampart Hospital. Dr. Brackett says their triage area's black tags are beginning to outstrip their facility's capacity for cold storage. We're going to help preserve the chain of evidence on all of the fresh homicides rolling in by reaffirming initial causes of death and beginning the paperwork on them." Quincy answered.

"What about the boss? Won't he have something to say about us leaving?"

"Dr. Asten? He's been shanghai'd into active triage along with every other doctor Brackett could lay his hands on." Quincy chuckled. "It'll do him good to slap on a few bandaids. He's been getting a bit surly lately being coped up here with us all of the time. Haven't you noticed?"

"Thankfully, no. I've been too busy."

"Well, we're about to get even busier, Sam. We won't have to worry about running into him.  
For the entire duration, hopefully."

Both men startled when a sudden thudding against an exterior wall caught their attention.

"So it's here, too." Quincy commented, biting his lip mildly, unperturbed. "Huh. We'll just have to put double locks on the doors as we go I guess."

"Is it safe to even travel out there with uncontrolled rioting going on?" Fujiyama asked incredulously.

"Sam, I'm surprised at you.. When was the last time you've ever seen anybody come within twenty five feet of a coroner's wagon with its red light on?" the older man replied with a snort.

Sam shrugged. "You've got a point. Let me go grab my lunch uh... er.. dinner." he amended, looking at his watch. "I'll eat it on the way."

"I packed enough food for both." Quincy said, holding up a hand. "We need to go."  
he said. "Our doctor friend sounded more harried than usual because he had to contact our department away from the normal channels. That probably means their local police are a bit overwhelmed. I don't think we'll be seeing any of the boys in blue helping us out with all the corpses lying around town for quite a while to come."

"Where does that leave Lt. Monahan?" Sam asked.

"Poor old Frank? For the moment, up the proverbial creek without a paddle.  
For once, I'm not envious of his job."

"We might be regretting ours today." Fujiyama replied dubiously, peeling out of his lab coat in trade for a black windbreaker.

"Never. Unlike Monahan, all of our answers are always going to be right in front of us. All we have to do is dig a little." Quincy said soberly.

Sam held up a retrieved box of exam gloves in his grip, with emphasis.

The two medical examiners rushed out of the lab and the lab's large glass doors shut behind them with a slam.

Nurse Terri Stonelake looked up from the rows of triage patients set up in the hospital's outdoor cafeteria as Quincy and Sam slowly picked their way around hastily piled medical supplies and very crowded stretchers laid out upon the ground out in the open. Her large eyes underneath a crisp short bob were wet with unbidden tears at the sight of all the carnage surrounding her, but her mouth was firm and her movements remained efficiently precise as she performed her assigned duty.

Around her, doctors, nurses and fire department paramedics were visiting victims as quickly as possible to either render care or declare a death that had occurred en route to the hospital on each red tagged victim.

"Over here, doctor." she called out to the newly arrived M.E. pair. "I've been placed in charge of disseminating these extra black tags." she indicated, waving a fresh set of medical gloves over a row of sheet covered bodies lying beneath the shadow of the trees in the courtyard. She eyed up their coroner's wagon skeptically. "What are you going to do? Transport all of them downtown to your tables one at a time?" she asked tightly.

"If we have to." Quincy replied civily, recognizing the heavy stress of crisis in her eyes. He took her arm into his hand with a soft compassionate grip and he squeeze it encouragingly. "Hi. Miss Stonelake? I was told to look for you. I'm Dr. Quincy. And this is my lab assistant, Sam Fujiyama. We're here to help you in any way we can." he smiled.

Terri sighed, and wiped away the worst of the dust on her face with an elbow. "I just wished we could have done more to save them, but it was impossible. We just didn't have enough people."  
she choked up.

"Hey.. They're not feeling any pain now." Quincy said, drawing her into a much needed hug. "But we can give them the final dignity they deserve, so let's get started, huh? You're doing fine, Terri."

Terri sniffled and finally let go of her tears silently. "I am. I know that. This is just the usual fallout."  
she said, appreciating some comfort. "I could have used this hug a few hours ago. Thanks.  
You're a really good friend, Quincy."

"I'm glad I'm here." he replied.

When they had separated, Sam offered Terri his coffee thermos. She thanked him and drank a few sips. "Who's first, ma'am?" Fujiyama asked gently.

"Uh,... she is. She's the most recent. Unspecified fatal abdominal trauma." Terri said, pointing down to a lone cloth stretcher on the ground nearest the parking lot. "She was found in a dumpster by some good samaritans near the Arco refinery along Wilmington. They thought she was alive because she was still bleeding from a large wound. They...didn't think to check for a pulse. They just got her here." Stonelake said. "And yeah,...she was murdered. Most likely a knife did it."

"Okay, where can we take her?" Quincy asked, crouching down near the covered travois to uncover the woman's face only long enough for an age determination.

"That tent over there. Dr. Brackett's overseeing its set up right now to make sure you have everything you need." the freckled nurse replied.

"We won't take long. And then we'll help you organize and process all of these others so you can take a break." Quincy promised. "Come on, Sam. Take her feet. Quickly now."

Fujiyama did and soon Quincy and Sam had the shrouded woman inside of the impromptu autopsy tent set aside for them.

Kel Brackett was in a pair of surgical scrubs. "Ah, Dr. Quincy. Mr. Fujiyama. You're here. Sorry to drag you out into the heat but this was kind of urgent. You know how the press gets about body counts. Especially unattended ones."

"Oh, yeah. They snoop around a little too much and take photographs." Sam agreed with disgust.

"Which wouldn't be too good for the hospital's reputation, hence my phone call." Kel said, crossing arms and elbows.

Quincy said. "I'd help with direct care, but I'm not a medical doctor. I'm just a PhD with a masters."

Dr. Brackett smiled ironically. "You're a great diagnostician, but hospital policies prevent me from allowing you to practice any first aid on people while you're on our property."

"No problem. I'll stick with the CPR I'm granted. Can't hurt those kinds of people. They're already dead." he joked darkly.

Brackett smiled slightly bigger, and some of his tense, worried, and harried, stress fell away.

Quincy smiled his first genuine smile. ::How's that for a bandaid?:: he thought to himself,  
pleased with his bedside psychology result.

"How many are being treated so far?" Sam asked Dr. Brackett.

"About forty. That's fifteen over our full in-house capacity. And those are in the process of being stabilized to send to other facilities. Sadly, ten have died here already waiting for first treatment or secondary transfers." Kel sighed unhappily.

"We saw them outside. There's only so much you can do if their injuries are bad with your resources overwhelmed. What do you know about her?" Sam asked, pointing to their first client.

"Nothing much." Kel replied. "She seems very young. I had hoped she would have been found in time by some fire department personnel. But that didn't happen, gentlemen. The riots have been so bad for scene safety, no fire goes out without police backup. I'm afraid all I did was check for a lack of a carotid, confirm dilated pupils, a flat line on EKG, and evidence of total exsanguination."

"Okay, doc. Thanks for your time. We know you have to get back out to the land of the living." Quincy said.

Kel nodded and left quickly after handing the medical examiner pair their stack of necessary forms.

Quincy and Sam sighed once the tent flapped closed and soon, they had changed into provided surgical overalls to protect their street clothes. Sam dragged over a nearby tool tray and an autopsy kit and set it up.

"Let's see what we've got." Sam said, turning on a tape recorder for the coroner. "Recording."

Quincy began to talk, spilling out his findings on the stomach slashed woman, laying on the table, whom they had retrieved from the courtyard. He nodded for Sam to pause the tape when they got down to actually probing the gaping wound. "Oh, my god." Quince said, peering close with a few retractors. "Sam, look. This woman was pregnant. And she was recently at full term." he said, pointing out the large flaccid oversized uterus and skin splayed out like a deflated balloon over the woman's upper thighs.

"How can you tell?" Sam asked, looking closer.

"She was lactating. Smell it?"

"Yeah. A bit like sour milk." Sam said, wiping away its traces from the woman's torso with a cotton gauze pad.

"That's acidosis causing that change, caused by her death state. Is there a fetus with her in the bag anywhere?"

Sam looked. "No, just this." he said, pulling out a bloody note that had been hand written by her would be rescuers with the location and street address nearest where she had been found.

Quincy took the card into his glove and read the address out loud. "Found in the alleyway of 2049 E 223rd Street in Carson at 1641 hours. Huh... Now why is that address familiar to me?"

Sam peeled off his bloody gloves and grabbed a yellow pages near the phoneline that the hospital had provided for them. He looked it up. "That's.. a fire station. Station 51."

"That's it. They're a regular client source. That's why they're so familiar. Don't they have paramedics assigned at that one?" Quincy asked.

"Yes, they do. I've seen their squad in all of the emergency department lots in the past, on rounds. And they're always busy." Sam answered. "That's probably why I remember them. Why do you ask?"

Quincy's eyes took on a haunted look. "Sam, you know how I feel about children and babies who are our clients."

"Yeah, you usually can't approach the table until I cover them up first." Fujiyama replied.

"Well, this baby is missing. And he or she was near full term. Maybe the firemen in this fire station know something about her murder. It was right down the block!"

Sam's eyes got suddenly firm. "Oh, no. We're not going to go off on some kind of wild goose chase after an infant who may or may not be in the area. Let the police do that."

"Sam, they won't do anything. Not for just a missing person report. They're all too busy handling the escaped convicts and the erupting riots. It won't hurt to do a quick search of that alley way where she was found ourselves. Shouldn't be too hard to find the place. There's been a lot of blood loss."

"Quincy, no. We were told we have work here and so... here... we.. stay!"

"That's an inhuman attitude right there, Sam! Just listen to yourself. What if this baby's still alive? This woman's uterus is at least nine month's stretch. The mother's not even in rigor or livor yet. She died very very recently. I wouldn't want to be you and try to sleep nights if this day goes by and it's later found out that a newborn baby died of exposure to the cold in a pile of garbage! Come on, that station's only five minutes from here! We can be there and back before anybody even notices. It's not like our clients from triage will suffer from such a short delay." he said, looking at the telephone book's map of Carson.

"Quincy! Y-You're crazy! You're... " Sam sputtered in argument, but it died aborning.  
"...absolutely right. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night."

"Great. I'll grab some flashlights." beamed the coroner. "Last one to the wagon's a rotten egg.  
I'm driving." he said, covering up the dead mother nimbly with her body bag and sheet once more for safe keeping until they got back.

Sam just sighed and grabbed a nearby medical kit and blanket as an afterthought.

Photo: Quincy talking to Sam Fujiyama in the coroner's lab.

Photo: Joe, Dixie and Kel by the squad.

Photo: A very full triage area.

Photo: Rampart's back parking lot full of hospital staff.

Photo: Kel Brackett close in a hallway.

Photo: Sam F. and Quincy in scrubs examining a body.

Photo: Ambulance attendants unloading a stretcher at Rampart.

Photo: A body in a bag on a stretcher in a hallway.

************************************************** From:patti keiper (pattik1 )  
Sent:Sun 11/27/11 12:58 AM Subject: The Gift of Gab..  
Dixie McCall had taken a center spot in the corridor of Rampart's main emergency department five hours earlier when the Condition Orange alert had first been declared. She was still there serving as the head triage coordinator, directing gurney traffic, first into, and then out of the hospital.::When is all of this going to end?:: She wondered. ::My G*d.  
This is victim number 42 right now.:: she said as Squad 10 wheeled in yet another mugging victim. "Conscious and stable?" she asked the medic.

He nodded. "Awake and very aware of how scared she was."

"Treatment Five with Dr. Asten." Dixie said, flashing a glare at him.

"Who's Dr. Asten?" asked Mitch from 10's, raising surprised eyebrows.  
"And I thought I knew them all after working here seven years."

Dixie leaned into his ear as he strode past while helping the Mayfair attendants push his patient along on their stretcher. "He's the attending from the County Examiner's Office. And don't you dare tell her." she emphasized, keeping her comment confidential as she cast eyes onto the woman sucking in oxygen hysterically in front of them.

Mitch's eyes got really worried. "Is he legit? Dixie, that place is the county mor-" Dixie smothered his last word, fast, with a hand over his mouth.

"To answer your question. Yep. I've seen him and Joe in surgery together. He's a really good part time general practictioner, but when he's scheduled over there, he's mostly an administrator for the county coroners."

Mitch met her eyes dubiously.

Dixie followed behind them, defending the M.E. physician deftly. "He gives shots. Handles employee occupational exams and minor emergencies like a pro. And he has the highest resuscitation success rate of any doctor I've never met. He runs into a lot of them during court cases and public autopsies I'll have you know."

"Wow." said the paramedic, finally convinced of Dr. Asten's credentials. "Can I meet him?"

Dixie grinned dryly. "You will in about four seconds." she announced as he nearly crashed into the door on the way into the treatment room. McCall caught and shoved the door open before Mitch could embarrass himself with a stumble around his still emotionally panicked patient. She was already eyeing him warily. "Behave.." Dixie growled low in her throat at 10's medic for her benefit.

"I'm a perfect gentleman." Mitch said, lifting his head smugly.  
"Yeah, but not a perfect paramedic. Quite yet." Dixie chuckled at him as it started shutting between them. "Mitch, that gossiping while on duty tendency's got to go."

"It takes two to tango." Mitch grinned hugely.

Dixie made a face and stuck her tongue out at him. "Shush. Go introduce yourself to Bob without making an even bigger fool of yourself."

"Yes, ma'am. But won't he-"

"Don't worry. Unlike Dr. Brackett, he doesn't bite if you interrupt a first exam."

Mitch opened his mouth to ask another question about Bob Asten, but the door snicked shut between them neatly.

Dixie let out a huge sigh as she watched Mitch's head finally sink slowly out of sight through the window as he turned to give a verbal patient report to his attending. It suddenly popped up again long enough for him to quickly wink an eye at he while he was doing so. Dixie did a double take. "Oh, you..." she sputtered. "Mitch, you did that on purpose, didn't you? Just to make me lighten up a little." She leaned on the wood with amusement. Then she started to laugh. "Huh.. Maybe it SHOULD be nurse heal thyself after five hours on."

Dixie eventually flagged down Carol Evans to temporarily take her place and went seeking coffee.

Joe Early had his hands full in triage. He gratefully noticed that Dr. Morton had finally arrived from his day off sailing in response to the all call hospital emergency. The African American doctor was already making rounds even though he still wore a navy striped nautical shirt and red bandana tied around his neck. This Mike soon stripped away to mop off his sweat streaming face. "Joe, just how bad is it out there? There must be at least fifty people out here waiting to see us." Mike wondered.

"We haven't seen a single police officer standing since all of this began. The ones here are all patients. What do you think?" Early tossed right back at him.

"I think I'd better keep my eyes open." Morton grumbled, glancing up at their perimeter towards the parking lot. "Has security spotted anything amiss around the hospital grounds?"

"Not yet. Maybe the inmates are more interested in gaining some luxuries for themselves by force rather than in seeking out medical care with a hospital." he said. "Only some of them ended up here. And two of them, are dead."

"Stabbings?" Morton asked, as he deftly checked a tourniquet someone had applied to an unconscious man's leg near him.

"No. Gunshot wounds." Early answered. "Police issued."

"Sh*t. That's the last thing we need." Morton hissed, grabbing for a pen to mark down a loosening constriction time on the wounded man's triage tag. "A bunch of armed lunatics running around."

"That's armed, very focused, lunatics running around." Joe amended.

"That sounds like a fair description of us, fellas." Kel grumbled ironically as he joined them in performing primary assessments on the group of new victim arrivals. "I've got the M.E. and his man all set up. Now if the press aims a camera our way, all they're going to see is calm, cool and collected, efficient processing going on. With nobody being ignored. Including the dead." he gruffed. Then he grinned sarcastically. "Hi, Mike. Glad you could join in on all the fun. How's he doing?" he asked of the hemorrhaging man being swiftly checked head to toe once more by Morton's gloved hands.

"He's bleeding." Morton snapped. "Duhhh."

Brackett just smiled. "Glad to hear it. Try a hemostat on that femoral artery. The leg's going to be a total loss. See the contractures in that foot and ankle? No blood's been making it down into his lower limb for hours. The tissue's necrotizing already."

Mike frowned reluctantly, but then he quickly sacrificed the leg's dubious circulation completely to save the man's life. "Clamping." Then he shouted out an order to a passing intern. "I want this man hooked up to EKG telemetry on the double!"

A paramedic volunteered. "I'm closer. I'll do it. Twelve lead, doc?"

"No, put him on Lead II. We've got to save our supplies. Run a strip and watch him for hyperkalemia. If you see any signs of increasing bradycardia or arrythmia, come get me!" Morton said, peeling off his rubber gloves to don a new pair for the next victim.

"Right." the fireman medic answered, starting to patch him in.

Boot the dog woke up under the engine and moaned. Waves and waves of pain greeted him as he threw up in reaction to the shock his body was taking from being shot through his shoulder. Instincts made him want to hide even further away from the acrid smelling men that were now mingling their angry scent with the comforting scents of his familiar ones.

As the scruffy, bloody dog scrambled painfully to his feet, his rump bumped into the live handy talkie that Chet had lost when he was knocked to the floor, from where it had landed partially propped against an engine tire. It tipped over and landed right on top of its push to talk button.

At L.A. Headquarters, dispatcher Sam Lanier saw an amber light go on. It was a live on-the-air H.T. frequency. Turning up its volume, Sam heard the sound of something high pitched issuing, then very soon after, a scraping of something blunt on concrete came rasping through.

Quickly, he double checked who was working a fire or rescue scene in the area, but no fire station was at the moment. Most were all still en route to their destinations. He soon relaxed a bit when the weird noises did not repeat themselves.

Sighing, he hit the transmit button to all the HTs active on the network. "L.A. to all personnel on HT frequency bands. We have an open mike that's transmitting. Check your radios." ::That should clear it up. Somebody's probably sitting on one after bumping it on or something.:: he guessed.

An odd, piercing, wheezy whine and a sound of faint, laborious struggling became apparent.

::Is that a dog? Sounding all echoey? What the heck?:: he wondered, pulling his chair even closer to the speaker. Sam looked at the transmitting signature in detail. Then he figured it out.

"Ohhhh." he chortled. "So that's it."  
Grinning, he turned to his other coworkers working their communications panel. "Hey guys, looks like Boot's stolen one of 51's handy talkies out of one of their trucks or their office charger again. Boy, are they going to be mad when they find out."

The rest of the dispatchers laughed.

Lanier turned back to his main monitoring panel, still chuckling with amusement as he flipped the amber light off so it wouldn't distract him any more. ::In a few hours, that radio's battery will die out and it'll stop broadcasting.:: he hoped. "What a crazy mutt. He must be bored out of his mind because the guys are all sleeping or something." he said out loud to the others.

A minute later, more communications activity on the city of Carson's current emergency began and he forgot all about the open HT band on speaker behind him.

Photo: Dixie chewing on a pen.

Photo: Mitch the paramedic from Station 10.

Photo: Dr. Bob Asten from the M.E. Office.

Photo: A closed hospital treatment door.

Photo: Brackett and Mike performing surgery.

Photo: Joe Early looking down at a patient.

Photo: Boot looking sad in a close up.

Photo: Two HT radio handy talkies in a charger.

Photo: Sam Lanier, L.A. County dispatcher in a med shot.

**************************************************   
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Sun 12/18/11 12:23 AM Subject: Divergence

Ice, the convict, belched loudly in Cap's arm chair.  
"Muchas buenos, se or." he smiled at Marco. "That was probably the best grub I've had since I was sentenced to life in the can."

"Oh, yeah?" said Gage, taking another blood pressure on the dozing Chet, still stretched out and propped head up on top of the kitchen table. "How long ago was that?"

"Nine years, Black Eyes."

"Nah, it's only been eight!" said Stu, the bigger con with the gun.  
"See? I've been marking it down." he said, pulling back a sleeve and displaying a ream of scars healed jaggedly on the skin of an inside forearm.

"Stu, your cut math's wrong. You forget I was at San Quentin for a year before I met ya." Ice grinned, tossing the bald headed Stu his hunter's knife, that had killed the mother and birthed the baby.

"Oh, yeah, that's right. I forgot. I'll fix it right now." he smiled gleefully, his eyes glaring with an evil glint. Swiftly, he drew the blood encrusted blade in a new hatch mark across his arm in a shallow slash. He closed his blood shot eyes and took in a deep cleansing breath against the pain. "Ooo,..  
payback's a b*tch. But a code's a code. There you go, Ice. Number nine. The proof's in the pudding." he said, brandishing his oozing arm up into the air for his cell mate to see.  
Then he tossed the knife back to him, flipping it end over end.

Ice snatched it out of the air effortlessly. "Thanks, buddy. I still appreciate the solidarity."

"Anytime, mate." Stu saluted him with a tiny, amused gesture, watching his cut bleed and drip onto his overalls.

Roy finally spoke up, mostly out of conscience. "Gonna dress that? It could infect on you."

"Nah, I got it, medic man." Stu began sucking on his self inflicted wound, like a hungry wolf, to clean it.

Cap and the others looked away, feeling nauseated. Lopez shoved aside his plate of untouched enchiladas.

Chet turned his eyes up to Johnny's. "If I puke, roll me his way so I can nail him." he mumbled through his oxygen mask.

Gage shushed him quickly in alarm, but the two convicts failed to hear the comment. He spoke aloud to cover it. "Uh,.. it's 86 over 54, Roy. About the same." he said, clearing his throat nervously. "H-How's your chest doing now, Chet?"

"Still... feels like I'm... drowning." Kelly answered, sweating.

"Doesn't sound like it, though." Johnny shared. "It's probably referred sensation on the blood that's already starting to clot inside your lung. You're doing just fine."

"Pink and perfusing, eh?" Kelly grinned slightly.

"Something like that." Roy nodded, his stress still veiled well.

Chet started coughing weakly at the itching. Gage helped him sit up higher during it to ease his discomfort.

Mike Stoker fixed Chet's oxygen tubing unnecessarily. "Should I add a humidifier?" he asked Johnny, checking the O2 flow's remaining volume on Chet and the baby's tank.

"No. The drier the O2, the better. Even if he gets a little thirsty in the mouth." Gage replied. "That lung hole's tiny. It's not collapsing anything yet."

"It probably won't." Roy agreed. "Not as long as he doesn't move around a whole lot for the next few hours while a scab forms."

"Maybe we should make him get up and dance." Ice chuckled.

Hank's glare that he shot the red haired convict was barely controlled. Cap gave into frustration. "You're the one in the clown suit. Why don't you?!"

Ice didn't take offense, he held up two hands in mild surrender. "Hey, whoa.  
I was just joshing, fireman. Stu offered your man some mercy. So it stays.  
You really think I can't honor that?" he stated, half dismayed that he wasn't trusted.

The newborn girl in the warm oven began to awaken and gurgle and flail her tiny limbs under the kitchen towel. That hushed all conversation instantly.

DeSoto hurried over to her side to check her consciousness level as she continued to pop around her airway tube. "She no longer needs this." he said, deftly extubating and suctioning her carefully with the resuscitator's equipment. "Pulse's fast, but still strong."

"Ooo, can I hold her?" Ice said, setting aside the knife on top of the pay phone shelf. "I'm good with kids." and he shot to his feet from the chair he had been sitting on.

Marco and Mike began to bar Ice but Cap held up his hands subtlely to halt their move.

Stu just watched the proceedings calmly, polishing his gun barrel on the bottom hem of his bloody orange tunic.

Roy didn't stop him as the tiny wild haired con took the wrapped baby gingerly into his heavily tattooed arms.

Mike Stoker clenched his fists but he didn't move from where he was sitting in a chair next to the oven and Chet. He watched everything with close intensity.

Ice smiled down at the tiny infant's oxygen masked face, who began to cry.  
"Hey, little one. Happy Birthday..." he crooned, eyeballing the firefighters one by one. Then he glanced down and gave into his more fatherly instincts.  
"I think I'm falling in love, Stu.. She's adorable."

"She looks like a piece of wrinkled meat, Ice." replied his companion.  
"Eeeow. I like 'em when they can actually start to talk and run and play with ya right back. At this age, they just poop all the time and spit up onto your shoulder after they eat."

"Yeah, but they don't smell bad at this age. That's why I like 'em." Ice said,  
grasping the baby's tiny hand into two of his fingers. Then he frowned.  
"Oh, she's cold. I just felt a shiver." he said anxiously.

"Here." said Roy, taking the baby back to her place in the oven warmed turkey pot. "She's just chilled from being away from the heat."

"Is she hungry?" Ice asked, all eyes on the baby, fussing worriedly.

DeSoto frowned. "Not yet. She's in shock." he admitted.

Stu just sighed. "There's no way to feed her. You off'd the mother, Ice. That wasn't very smart."

"Yeah?" said Ice defensively. "Mama screamed too much. I didn't want her to give us away to anybody passing by in the alley."

"Ever heard of using a gag?" Stu asked, matter of factly.

"What? A gag? Is that a cloth in the mouth?" asked the confused redheaded man.

Stu nodded patiently.

"Well, I..I didn't think right then, I just reacted." Ice sputtered.

"I know." Stu said, rolling his eyes. "That's where you always get into trouble."  
he said ironically.

Cap saw an opportunity. He met Stu's eyes firmly with his own sad ones.  
"You can end all this. Right now. Just leave the fire station. I'll order my men to keep their mouths shut about having experienced this little visit of yours until after the two of you are well away from here."

Ice shot to his feet and began pacing with the butcher knife still in hand.  
"And where are we supposed to go, huh? There IS no shelter for a runaway criminal. Everybody knows that, Stu. We come first. Like I said before. Don't listen to him."

Stu just smiled and scratched his bald head. "I don't plan to. I'm tired of doing time. This is our last stand, Ice. Fitting in a way. My dad was a firefighter before he died."

Cap lifted his head at that. "Where was that?"

"San Dimas. Fire Station #64."

"Headquarters?" Marco blurted out.

"Yeah. He had a stroke while working. But the fire boys from somewhere couldn't save him because paramedics didn't exist in those days." Stu snarled. "Poor me. I was nine at the time. So that's why I'm here. Fire stations are..." he took in a deep breath.. "..still very comfortable places for me to be in. I have a lot of nice memories of growing up around 64's."

Cap studied Stu's face more closely, angling his head. "Stuart? Are you Stuart Allen? Steven Allen's son?"

Stu shifted on the lounge chair and uncrossed his legs, subtlely no longer at ease with the situation. "Maybe once a long time ago. But I'm a different man now. Beaten down by the system and cast aside, fireman. Do you like what you see?" he said, aiming his gun right at Cap and cocking its safety off.

Hank turned his face away, holding up a hand. "Sorry.. I'm.. Chief McConnikee still has a picture of you and your dad in his office. That's how I know. A firefighter photo is hard to forget when any kids are in them along with their dads." he said, keeping his eyes to the floor. " You... looked really happy then."

Stu's face became unreadable for long seconds. Then he lowered the gun. "I was, captain. But all of that changed and I changed. It's an old sad story. Mom got into drugs because she couldn't cope with her grief and I got into the gangs to try and put food on our table. I was succeeding until one day I met up with someone just a bit bigger and stronger than I was."

"What happened?" DeSoto asked.

"I killed a man in a bar fight. I just didn't know that he was an off duty cop at the time who had a growing alcohol problem. Before I came along, he'd been able to keep it successfully hidden." Stu admitted. "His fellow police buddies threw the book at me once they found out that he had been a chronic drinker from the coroner's. Probably went all out on me out of hate because the booze had made one of their own slow enough for one of the bad guys to get him. So tell me this. Who looked better in court at the trial in front of an impartial jury? A dead cop who had been innocently trying to unwind in a tavern or the live gang member with a years long history of petty crimes to his name with the scars and tattoos to match?"

Marco clenched his jaw. "You were eighteen at the time?"

Ice defended his cellmate. "Yeah, stupid. He was. Only adults can get life time raps."

"It was self defense." Stu murmured to Lopez. "I haven't killed since. I do have a sense of morals."

Ice turned back to Stu with a look of confused incomprehension. "Why are you telling them all this? It'll just give them ammunition."

"Confession is good for the soul, Ice." Stu told him. "But you'll never understand that as long as you keep the view that other people are worth less than you. That's why I took you on as a cell mate. I thought maybe I could try and get you to change your line of thinking."

"I'm nobody's personal reclamation project!" Ice frothed. "Not even yours!"

Stu just shrugged and played with the gun.  
"I know. That's not why I took you along with me when we escaped. But this," he said,  
tossing his gun muzzle toward the oven and the distressed baby. "...is going too far. They were both innocent, Ice!" Stu told him.

"Stu. I like you. But I'm also warning you. Shut up about that. Just -"

A tones call went out. And it was for Station 51.

##*Eee... Ohhh.. OOoooooo.* Station 51. People injured at the mall. 8500 Beverly Boulevard. 8500 Beverly Boulevard. Cross street, La Cienega. Time out: 17:09.##

"Is that for us?" Stu startled, glaring at Cap.

"Yes." replied Hank softly.

"Oh, sh*t." Ice fretted. "Stu, what are we gonna do now?"

"Just shush... I can't remember." said the big bald convict, chewing on his hand. "I think they have steps to follow if nobody answers after two minutes.. Is that right?" he asked, gesturing his gun at Cap.

"Yeah, that's right." Hank said quietly, keeping still. "They'll think something's wrong. And then, Headquarters will deal with it."

Ice paced over to Cap and whipped the knife to his throat, forcing his head back in a fierce arm grip. "So make them stop."

"I can't." grunted Cap breathlessly, blinking rapidly at the knife he could feel stinging his jawline. "It's standard operating procedures."

Stu got to his feet and glared at Ice. "Don't hurt him. They're our guests. They cooked for us. Is this how we repay them? We both knew it was only a matter of time before we got discovered. Just ride with it. We're not done yet. Not by a long shot."

Frustrated, Ice let Hank go with a rough twist.

Cap coughed hard, both hands flying to his throat as he sucked in a breath desperately at the release of pressure.

"Easy. You're not cut." Gage whispered to him at his ear. "That was the back of the blade." he said, gripping Cap's shoulder reassuringly in a brief squeeze.  
Then Johnny turned back quickly to re-face their assailants.

DeSoto moved his hands neutrally in front of himself and away from the medical gear. "Stu. We are not resisting you. Cap was just stating the facts."

"Noted." Stu nodded easily. He dragged Ice back over to his side by the arm.  
"This is not the way to do it." he hissed at his companion. "No more force!"

The overhead speaker came to life once more with Sam Lanier's voice.  
##Station 51, please respond to our last traffic.##

In dispatch, Sam toggled his microphone once more. "Station 51, do you copy?"

He was met with silence over the airwaves.

Grunting in puzzlement, he toggled another station's call button and toned them out to the call he had tried to assign to 51's.

Then he got on the phone to his supervisor. "Hello, Ron? 51 is offline. Any seismic acvitity from USGS going on right now?"

Supervisor Dane replied. ##Nope. Try their tower on backup.##

Sam hit a test tone to the repeater in Battalion One's district. The light came back green. "I get an echo. It's working." he reported. "Hmm. Weird.  
Say listen. We have high Santa Anas today. Maybe 51's aerial antenna got knocked out of whack or something."

##Did you try them by landline?## asked Sam's boss.

"Not yet. Hang on." Sam dialed Station 51 and got only a busy signal.  
"There's nothing." Sam confirmed over the phone.

## Okay. So it's a local communications glitch on their end somehow.  
Go ahead and send out a maintenance truck their way to see what's up.##

"Will do." replied Sam. "I'm taking 51 off the grid for now."

##Sounds good. Keep me posted.##

Photo: Cap, Roy and Johnny seated at the kitchen table.

Photo: Roy looking concerned by a station window.

Photo: A newborn baby being cared for on a towel.

Photo: A convict with a gun to his mouth.

Photo: A bloody kitchen knife on a countertop.

Photo: Sam Lanier and other dispatchers at Headquarters.

Photo: An L. .F.D. maintenance truck in Station 51's back lot.

************************************************** **********  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 )  
Subject: The Trail..  
Sent:Sun 12/25/11 2:41 PM

It was ten minutes later, when the red maintenance truck assigned to Los Angeles County's fire service communications work, arrived to Station's 51 location. It was fully after sundown.

Tony Manetti and Frank Williams pulled their county utility truck carefully through the rear drive entrance of the fire station and parked it in a free back lot space.

"Flip you for it." said the driver, Frank, to his partner.

"I got heads." Tony grinned as he took out a quarter and tossed it into the air. Soon an overturned palm on a wrist revealed the winner. "It's heads."

"Lucky stiff." grumbled Frank. "This fire crew shift makes really good coffee."

"Stay in the truck. I'll probably be only a minute. Looks like the wind was strong enough earlier to knock over one of their garbage cans." Tony told him as he righted the one that looked like it had rolled around, dumping its trash out, back to upright against the building.

"Yeah, and that means most likely that their roof antennae's probably bent over out of whack, too." sighed Frank, leaning back with his feet already propped on the dashboard over the steering wheel.

"Should be a quick fix. See you in a bit." yawned Tony.

"All right." said Frank, his face already buried inside of a handy, cab light lit newspaper. "Have fun climbing their roof ladder. It's a b*tch."

Tony sighed, shaking his head with amusement at the sight of five firefighter's cars and the one lone land rover lined up neatly along the back wall. The newly gathering evening dew lay undisturbed on their windshields.

"Must be nice, sleeping in all day." Manetti chuckled into the darkness as he grabbed his tool box, a torch, and hand held walkie talkie from the passenger's seat. He set their radio to private citizen's band with the L.A. County dispatcher who had first instigated their work order request for the fire station. He whistled cheerfully as he pulled open the back entrance next to the rear bay doors and went inside.

His whistling stopped two steps further along.

The apparatus bay was dark. No lights were on at all except for the small spot lit one dimly illuminating the large county map next to Cap's office.

Tony shouted when he saw that the engine and squad were still in house. "Yo, Station 51. Break times's over. Guess what? Your radio repair guys are here!"

-  
Back at Headquarters, Sam Lanier heard the fix-it man's shout over the open HT radio's speaker. Grinning, he toggled a switch. "Copy. Truck 2 on scene at Station 51 at 1804."

##Sam? How did you do that?## Tony spoke into his radio.

"I can read minds." Sam laughed.

##No really.## said Manetti, mystified. ##How did you know we were here?##

Lanier finally let Tony off the hook. "Their dog ran away with one of their HTs. They're probably looking for it. It's stuck open. I can hear you right now through it. You're on live."

Tony scoffed and toggled a replyback on his work radio. ##Sneaky b*st*rd. I'm in the bay, so that radio's probably around here somewhere nearby. I'll be sure to tell em. Uh,...Nobody's immediately around right now but I'll get right on the communications problem pronto.##

"I have an ear out." Sam replied back, already deep into his other work.

Tony's amused smile collapsed into a frown when he saw that Squad 51's side compartment bay doors had been flung wide open. He aimed a flashlight towards them and he noticed that all of the paramedic's medical gear was missing. "Hey! Where is everybody?"

A quiet whimper echoed through the blackness.

"Boot?" Tony grinned, recognizing the dog's voice. "Come here, boy. You're not in trouble for taking the radio, I promise. Just bring it h-"

Tony broke off when his questing flashlight beam encountered a large splash of blood on the floor with red smeared human hand and footprints on top of bloody dog pawprints.

Nausea washed acid into his mouth. He was about to tip off Sam out loud when a large hand gripped his mouth from behind in a suffocating grip. "Don't move mister. And you won't get stuck." said Ice into his ear.  
"Who were you looking for?"

"A dog. Just their d-dog." Tony said, not struggling inside of the fierce hold,  
his eyes still falling on the signs of violence on the floor in growing horror.

"The dog? Well, you're not going to find him. He's dead. My cellmate shot him." came the sour smelling convict's harsh reply as he stripped Tony's radio from his hand.

It was then Tony realized that 51 was in a hostage situation. "Okay, okay.  
I'll cooperate. Just don't kill me!" he shouted louder, hoping he was near enough to the lost HT to register on pickup. "I'm definitely going to be your hostage." he said again, finally feeling the knife pressing against his throat.

"Are you slow or something?" Ice hissed. "Stop talking now that you've finally figured out what's going on." And with that, Ice hauled Tony with him, forcibly, to the kitchen to join the others.

Sam Lanier was suddenly tense and focused. He waved over the other dispatchers silently as he put 51's HT speaker on the main overhead audio monitor. He quickly played back the last seven seconds of recording so all of them could hear Tony's cry for help.

"D*mn! I had no clue this was going on." Lanier shared after Ice's last sentence came through. "I thought this open HT was just a dog's mischief, boss."

Sam's supervisor leaned on the counter urgently, snapping an order. "A whole new ball of wax, Sam. Not your fault with the rest of this craziness going on. Find a law enforcement unit to handle 51. Top priority. Someone who is actually freed up to take it for real, a.s.a.p. Make it a S.W.A.T. if you have to." said Dane.

"On it." said Lanier, worried for everybody at Station 51. "Okay, it sounded like there were at least two assailants." he thought back, while looking up P.D.  
statuses that he had written down in his crowded notes for the day.

"And six hostages." Dane agreed, pulling up the station's roster information.  
"Two paramedics, a captain, an engineer, and two regular firefighters."

"Plus Tony." Sam added.

"What about Frank? Isn't he scheduled to work with Tony tonight?" Ron asked.

Sam's eyes filled with concern. "I don't know his situation. All I know is that Tony for sure had their only radio inside of the station. We talked for a bit."

"Share what you know also with the FBI." Dane told him, hurrying to his office to call the Battalion Chief for District One. "Don't leave anything out! If the FEDs can help end this, then they're welcome to run all over my desk for as long as they need to."  
-

Dr. Quincy and Sam Fujiyama pulled up to the side of the alleyway nearest a dumpster that they had spotted as sitting in a pool of blood. They hurried out and quickly searched the bin with gloves, looking for the newborn baby.

"It's not here." Quincy said after they had tipped it over with some effort and scattered its cardboard and paper trash. "Just blood."

"And no afterbirth." realized Fujiyama.

"Good. You thought of that." Quincy told him. "Nah, only thing left to try is the station itself. Looks like the blood trail leads over that way anyway. Maybe they found it, treated it, and ran it in to another hospital." he said, tracing his flashlight along drag marks and footprints stained in blood that he could see. "In my head, I can see them thinking along those lines."

"They'd have to. They're trained to react to solve oddball situations." Sam scoffed as the two of them walked up the alleyway until they were even with the station. They stopped after pacing along its whole length.

"Hmm. No gate. How are you over a bit of climbing?" asked the coroner.

"Pretty fair, Quince." Sam said, neatly vaulting over the fire station's back wall. "Need a hand?"

Quincy scowled. "Yeah, I'm not twenty something like you." he said, offering Sam his hand.

Sam quickly helped the older coroner into the back yard. "More blood here."

"I see it." said Quincy. "Looks like there was a struggle. Something violent." he said,  
his demeanor instantly turning overly cautious and worried.

A few seconds later, he ducked behind a parked truck quickly, at a noise.

Sam the lab assistant and Quincy flicked off their flashlights and peeked over the hood of the truck behind which they had taken refuge. Quincy instantly whipped his hands away from the hood. "Ouch. This engine is still hot." he exclaimed, shaking his palms to cool them.

Sam peered at the door label in the darkness. "Huh. Fire department maintenance.  
Uh,.. Communications Repairs it looks like." he whispered back. "Maybe they're here on business."

Quincy stood back up, studying the activity they could hear in the shadows. "Then they're the good guys. Let's find out." He flicked on his flashlight and waved. "Hello? Are you the fire department repair man?"

Sam joined Quincy as the coroner met up with Frank, who was stiffly picking up the spilled trash that Tony had ignored earlier. "Yeah. Who wants to know?" asked Williams.

Quincy showed him his official I.D. "I'm Doctor Quincy with the Los Angeles County Coroner's Office. This is Sam Fujiyama, my lab and field assistant. Do you realize that you're tampering with a crime scene right now?"

"What?" Frank asked. "Who are you people?" he asked.

"We told you, sir, we're from the county morgue." Fujiyama said kindly. "Didn't you notice all of the blood on the ground and all over that door frame over there?" he said, pointing to Station 51's back door.

"No, it's night time. I was reading the newspaper. And then I was picking up all of this wind blown trash without a flashlight. That's all I know." Frank said defensively. "My partner and I were called here to restore the firefighters' communications array. It's not working.  
They missed a call."

Quincy had grown thoughtful as he kept casting his flashlight over the blood smears on the ground. "Sir, there was a murder committed here or very near here. A young mother was killed, her baby forcibly taken from her womb. We came here from a triage station in search of the infant."

"It's around here?" Frank asked horrified.

"It's got to be." Quincy told him no nonsense. "All the blood trail says so. It goes nowhere else."

"Then where are the cops?" Frank wondered, eyeing up the two county men. "Shouldn't they be here trying to help?"

"Yeah, but there's been a prison break and now there's gang riots in progress all over the neighborhood. There aren't any police available. I'm surprised you were even sent out here without some kind of backup." Sam replied.

"Maybe the dispatchers' hands were too full to spread the word." Frank said, shocked at events.

Quincy's eyes stayed on the doorframe and the circle of light illuminating a bloody palm print. "Uh, oh." he mumbled, flicking his flashlight off again. He ducked back down behind the maintenance truck.

The other two joined him quickly, Quincy's sudden fear infecting them.

"Now what?" Sam asked next to him, keeping his voice low.

"Whoever came in contact with that blood is or was inside of that fire station." Quincy told him.

"How can you tell?" Frank whispered, cowed.

"The blood. It was smeared on just the frame and didn't carry over to the surface of the door itself. That meant that door was open at the time it was made. And the hand that made that print is very large. Far too large to be an injured woman's."

Sam's eyes got very big in the darkness. "One of the firefighters?"

"Or the murderer's." Quincy shared.

"Tony?!" Frank gasped.

"What?" Quincy wondered.

"My partner. He's in there right now!" Frank replied, trying to rise to his feet.

Quincy grabbed his shoulders. "Now listen. Somebody has to go for help if this whole situation turns out to be some kind of bad. It's gonna be you, Frank."

"But why? My partner's in there!" Frank minced.

"That's why." Sam said firmly. "Quincy and I are used to thinking calmly in crime situations. Especially if there are dead bodies lying around." he said, playing a little hard ball to protect the man's life.

Frank turned green. "But.. ...i want to help.." he said in a tiny voice.

"You can and you will. Go find a police station and call for help." Quincy told him.

Frank rose with a set of keys in his hand and started to open the truck's door.

Quincy and Sam snatched him back down. "Not the truck! You'll give us both away."  
said Fujiyama. "Walk. No... Run for help. We'll be okay."

Frank's emotional shock finally made him obey and he tore off clumsily down the alleyway towards the main boulevard to flag down a passing motorist for assistance.

Once he was gone, Sam rejoined Quincy in his crouch behind the repair truck. "What makes you think it's the murderer running amuck idea, Quince? I know you too well."

"When was the last time you've ever driven by a fire station at night and all of its exterior lights were turned off while the station crew was still on duty?" he replied, blinking into the pitch blackness surrounding them, pointing back at the midnight silhouette of Station 51.

Photo: Tony the repairman in Station 51

Photo: Quincy close up at night.

Photo: Sam Fujiyama, worried, close shot.

Photo: Blood stains on concrete.

Photo: Station 51's parking lot.

Photo: Station 51's backyard.

Photo: Sam Lanier at his dispatching station.

Photo: A tipped over trash can on a brown lawn.

************************************************** ************  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Mon 1/02/12 2:55 AM Subject: Possum

Sam eyed up the even blacker on dark outline of the building. "Okaayy,"  
he said, worried and cautious. "I accept that as very plausible, but I still don't like the fact that it's us snooping around what's almost guaranteed to be very dangerous!" he hissed in a tense whisper.

"Who else is there?!" the older coroner shot back. "I had no idea we'd run into this situation until it kissed the old eyeballs! Come on.."  
Quincy said, motioning, very frustrated and angry. He began to backtrack along their earlier steps silently, heading for the bloody dumpster site.

"Why are we going back there?" Sam asked.

"I've got an idea." grumbled Quincy. A minute later, they were there. The dark gray haired coroner stiffly crouched until he was leaning over a largish wet spot. "Fact... I'm old. You're young." he said, thoughtfully peeling off his protective rubber gloves and throwing them away conscientiously into the garbage.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Sam complained. "I don't follow you."

"Who'd make a less tempting target to a criminal?" he said, balancing on his crouched toes and lacing his fingers together in front of his knees.

The Japanese man's eyes flashed bright even in under the moonless sky over the alleyway. "Oh, no... You're not going into that seized fire station.." Sam admonished, throwing up a warning finger. "It's not our job to stop the bad guys in person! Even if the baby is involved."

Quincy just threw him an oh really look and dipped five fingers of a hand into the pool of blood he had been studying. A moment later, he began smearing it onto the front of his jacket with calculation.

"What th?- Quincy!" said Sam, grossed out enough to squint.

The coroner harrumphed matter of factly as he peered down at his handiwork. "I'm a victim who stumbled into the alleyway after getting attacked during a riot. Doesn't it look like it?" he asked, continuing to paint away daintily.

Finally, Sam unhappily cocked his head. "Grab your collar and grip it a few times. A mugger would most likely use a choke hold."

"Thatta boy." he said, doing just that. "I AM doing the right thing." Quincy said gently, finishing his make up job afterwards with a few swipes of blood onto his forehead and cheek.

"But it's not the best thing!" Sam spat wholeheartedly.

Quincy stood, holding his sticky fingers away from himself. "We may be running out of time and I've made up my mind. Now go get me some alcohol to wash the rest of this blood off of my hand to shorten the risk of further contamination."

Sam ran to their coroner's wagon to snatch up the bottle they always kept in the glove compartment. "You're crazy."

"Yep. I've been told that before.." Quincy admitted, rising to his feet and joining him by the car. "By Lt. Monahan and Dr. Asten both. Many times."

"And by me.."  
Expertly, Sam cleaned off Quincy's hand with a poured stream of isopropol. "If you don't touch your face, you should be fine. Even if that mother was sick with something before she died."

"I won't. Don't worry." Quincy said, taking in a deep nervous breath. Then he met his coworker's gaze with warm affection. "Thanks, Sam."

Fujiyama just scowled as he stood back and admired Quincy's handiwork with their flashlight. "Don't thank me. I'm totally against you." he said defensively. "And I thoroughly hate your plan." Then he stepped forward quickly and grabbed Quincy by the arm. He swiftly tore the fabric off his shoulder visciously in a long solid rip. "There. Now that looks like you've been in a fight." he said chidingly.

Quincy never changed his lost puppy dog expression. "That was my favorite Khaki jacket, I'll have you know." he said, partially scolding.

"Beggers can't be choosers. Now get the h*ll in there before I change my mind. I'm gonna stay where we were and monitor things from the outside if I can until help arrives." Fujiyama told him.

Without hesitation, Quincy shot him a smile, turned, and was quickly gone down the alleyway, hurrying ahead of Sam, who followed.

"I'm the crazy one, too, for going along with this whole scheme." Sam grumbled as he resumed their previous spot behind the radio maintenance truck. He began studying the windows he could see in the gloom to figure out where was best to try and peek inside.

Photo: Sam Fujiyama talking to Quincy empathically.

Photo: Quincy close up in the dark.

Photo: A pool of blood on pavement.

From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Tue 1/24/12 12:16 PM Subject: When The Cat's Away...

"That's it." said the security officer to Dr. Brackett in the outdoor cafeteria.  
"Any others we get into triage will come through the front door." The burly man in black nodded as he checked his list again for accuracy. "Yep. All dumped here by the services or civilian drive-ins, have been processed."

"Thanks, Brad. Go take a break." said Kel, letting go of the foot of the last admitting patient's gurney whom he had treated under the palm trees. He smiled encouragingly to the woman. "You're going to be fine. Your asthma came back today, only because some nutcase broke into your house and frightened you half to death. Like the police, we've got it under control."

The exhausted oxygen masked young brunette just nodded tiredly as she was wheeled away to a nurse's station for monitoring.

Dr. Early and Dr. Morton joined Dr. Brackett and the three of them finally sat down at a shoved aside fiberglass cafeteria table in shared relief and fatigue.

"Wow, that was rough." sighed Mike.

"You said it." Kel mumbled, rubbing his face.

Nurse Terri Stonelake dropped off a steel pot of hot coffee and a trio of styrofoam cups to the doctors from the dietary services cart she had been pushing ahead of her along with a stack of plastic wrapped sandwiches.

"Any pastrami in these?" asked Morton hopefully.

"Sorry, doctor. Those were all claimed two hours ago." she shrugged.

"Well, who got fed before us doctors!" he snapped in full bluster.

"Green tagged patients." she with firm emphasis, and a few daggers, very used to his mannerisms.

Brackett just grinned. "She's got you there, Mike. Victims do outrank doctors in emergency situations in-house."

"Welllll..., okay.." Morton simpered down.

"Hey, I'll take one." said a voice eagerly from nearby.

The four of them looked up to see Dr. Bob Asten from the coroner's office joining them.

"Help yourself. Guest doctors first, too, I suppose." sulked Morton, burying his chin into two palms on top of elbows.

Courteously, Bob let Morton choose before him. "I've been snacking from the vending machine between patients. Please.." he said, waving a nimble hand at the tray. "You're hungrier than any of us."

"Must have been all that fresh sea air." Morton smiled finally, nabbing two roast beef sandwiches. "Sailing build's up quite an appetite."

"Yeah? Well, mine's gone after I heard that we were losing people in triage."  
lied Asten, wiping off some mayonnaise from his moustache as he ate quickly from his chicken sandwich. "Uh, not that it was any fault of yours." he quickly recovered his impasse. "Things were tight to the wall." He looked to Terri Stonelake, the nurse. "How many so far?"

She replied wearily. "Eleven total. Not counting a woman brought in by samaritans from an alley in Carson. Dr. Quincy'd probably be able to give you a better history on how they died, than I. He's in the morgue tent doing prelim autopsies with his assistant."

"Morgue tent?" Asten peered about eagerly, not finding it in the hub bub of triage clean up activity by an army of Rampart staffers.

"I'll take you there." offered Joe, rising as he crumpled up empty suran wrap that had been around his now fully eaten tuna sandwich. "It's around the corner."

"Thanks, Joe." said Asten, scooping up one of the doctors' untouched full coffee cups for himself. "He's not answering any of my pages." he said as he followed in Joe's footsteps around used first aid debris.

Morton stole Brackett's coffee craftily once the two had disappeared from sight.

Kel threw up his hands only once before he guiltily took Joe's.

-  
The black flap of the concealing tent flipped up into its lamp lit interior from a clear plastic skylight. The shaft of electric light revealed just a black body bag with its bloody cardboard note carefully lain over the top of its torso.

"Huh, that's funny. They're not here."  
Asten snatched it up and read it while Dr. Early checked out the dead woman's autopsy notes out of curiosity.

"Ooo." Joe grunted in sympathy.

"Hmm?" asked Asten, still looking around for any message from his coroner.  
"Things all look in place. Nobody unauthorized has been in here."

"Oh, it's not that. It's this. Quincy's ruled her dead by live vivisection. While eight months pregnant." Early said, tapping the notes Quincy had left behind.

"What?!" gaped Bob. "Give me that." he snapped angrily as he took the chart from Joe's hands as he began to put two and two together about a nasty suspicion. Then he found it after casting his eyes around the tent a bit. "Oh, great." he said sarcastically, dropping the chart back onto a portable table.

"I'm afraid I don't follow you." Joe said amicably.

"Do you see another body bag in here? One maybe a foot long at the most?"

Early wasn't slow. "For the woman's baby... No, I don't."

Asten began pacing in irritation. "Well, let me let you in on a little dirty secret about my fellow colleague, Dr. Early. He has an overprotective instinct when it comes to any child or infant fatality cases that are even the slightest bit out of whack."

"Oh, don't tell me."

"Yes, I'm afraid my man's gone hunting for the missing fetus. This is so embarrassing. I assure you, he'll be disciplined to the fullest extent of my department for abandoning your triage area." Bob stated.

Dr. Early held up an understanding hand. "No need. I think I may know what your coroner may have been thinking about that."

"What was that?" It was Bob's turn to shrug in incomprehension.

"Whether or not that missing baby was still alive."

Bob's face turned a particular shade of pasty mortification. "Oh. That does put this infraction thing into a whole new light, now doesn't it?" Then he suddenly remembered what was in his hands. "And I think I may know where he might have gone to go look."

"Where?"

"In the alleyway behind a..." he squinted myopically at the stained cardboard.  
"Fire Station 51." he replied, showing Dr. Early the note.

"It's no problem at all, Dr. Asten." said Joe graciously as the two approached Dixie's desk in the E.R. "Miss McCall here knows the number to that firehouse in question.  
If your man, Quincy, was there, I'm sure Station 51'll know about it. Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm going to go grab that evening snack I abandoned outside.."

"Sure sure.." Asten nodded. "Thanks for your help."

"What can I do for you, Doctor?" Dixie smiled, quickly angling in on the hints Joe had thrown at her. "Just call these fire boys?"

"Yeah, for now." the doctor sighed. "It's a good start."

"Hang on." Dixie charmed, picking up a phone receiver with a hand full of still elegant fingernails. She dialed out. Then she frowned. "Huh. I'm getting a busy signal."

"That's odd. What's the number? I'll try them on the emergency phone." he said, pointing to the red one on the wall.

Dixie told him. "310-830-3170. I'll try again on mine, too." she said, redialing.

Soon, both doctor and nurse hung up their receivers reluctantly.

"Nope. No connection. Their phones are definitely out." said Asten.

"I'll try the county fire department dispatcher. Maybe he knows something about some fresh riot damage to that neighborhood." Dixie said, picking up her desk phone once more.

A minute later, Dr. Asten had his information from the caller Dixie had gotten a hold of for him. "A Mr. Lanier said that Lieutenant Monahan's at L.A. Headquarters right now for a police incident involving a possible hostage situation at the station. And my instinct is that if Quincy was anywhere near that, his nose is probably well into it. Thanks, Dix. I owe you one. Do you know if any of the extra medical staff can leave Rampart yet?"

"Yes, they can. The Code Orange was declared over twenty minutes ago."

"Great. If Quincy calls, tell him I'm at L. .F.D.H.Q. wanting to ream his-"

"I'll do that." Dixie said quickly, cutting off Bob Asten's ire neatly.

Photo: Joe and Kel in white coats in hallway talking.

Photo: Morton, worked up, holding a bottle.

Photo: Dr. Bob Asten at Rampart.

Photo: Dixie, concerned, in E.R. near the nurse's station.

Photo: L.A. County Headquarters Dispatch entrance.

Photo: Lt. Frank Monahan from L.A.P.D.

Photo: Station 51 viewed at night, its red emergency light on.

************************************************** *  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 )  
Subject: Turnabout.. Sent:Sat 2/25/12 10:16 PM

A sudden loud banging on the kitchen's outside door made Ice, Stu,  
Tony the repair man, and all six firefighters jump.

The half dozing Chet moaned as lung pain jolted through him as a result. Gage steadied him as his gaze went quickly to all of the windows in the room.

The newborn baby girl in the oven didn't react to the noise openly.

Roy put a hand inside to check her consciousness level with sudden worry.

The knocking came again and everybody froze, eyeing up Ice and Stu with indecision.

"If that's another service guy..." Ice warned, still actively guarding Tony with his knife while the man visibly worked through the shock of being taken hostage.

Cap held up a hand. "None that I know about. This could be a walk up."  
he said, still sitting in the kitchen chair nearest Chet's head.

"A walk up?" Stu parroted, his voice grumbling warning.

"We handle emergencies by going out on calls usually. Well, sometimes,  
folks come to us here at the station for help..." Hank explained.  
"We've...got an intercom panel outside so they can talk to us."

"Use it. And make whoever it is go away without tipping them off." Stu decided.

Hank gestured questioningly around the room.

Ice sighed with impatience and finally pointed to Mike Stoker. "Okay.  
You, Hot Shot. Make it work. But don't crack those blinds open one inch."

Stoker got up out of his chair and went to the door's speaker. When Stu nodded, he pressed the button. "L.A. County Fire Station 51. This is Fireman Stoker."

A clumsy hand fumbled the reply toggle. ## *Spap*. You've gotta help me, please.. I... I've been attacked by a mob. I'm... bleeding and I can't stop it. *gasp* *cough* ## said a male voice through the intercom.

Quincy continued to knock and plead desperately, not having to feign the fear showing in his voice.

Mike glanced at the two convicts and tossed his head in a question.  
He had concern etched all over his face for the mystery man still begging for aid very vocally outside. "Can I open the door?" he asked.

Stu threw up his hands, including the one clutching the gun. "Well, why not? Let's make it an even bigger party.." he said sarcastically. "If he's a cop, though..."

"...he dies..." Ice finished eagerly.

Stu was suddenly surprised at his partner in crime. "No,...Ice." he corrected quietly, "What's the matter with you?" he finally said angrily."I think you've done enough killing for one day! Just chill out. We'll think it through like we're doing all the rest."

Gage used the distraction to talk to Roy while glancing at Kelly's racing EKG monitor. "Is the baby...?"

"She's okay. Just exhausted." DeSoto replied with another sigh of stress. "How's Chet?"

"Stable enough. His breathing's still equal both sides. But his meperidine's no longer working. He needs another-"

"Hush!" Stu commanded, turning his pointed gun at the two paramedics.  
"One thing at a time." Then he raised his eyebrows at Stoker. "Okay, fire boy.  
Let him in."

Mike opened the door and literally caught a fifty something year old man who was wearing a bloody, torn tan jacket as he tumbled to his knees. "Sir, easy.  
I got you. Go ahead and lay down right here on the floor." he said, instinctively reaching for the pulse point in the bend of the man's elbow.

Gage and Roy watched their visitor intently, but neither one dared move from where they were seated.

"Now kick the door shut.." Stu commanded Mike. The engineer did so, with a free foot, right from where he kneeled by the new man's head. "Atta boy. All right, mister. What's your name? We're all friends here." Stu grinned.

Ice remained tense and suspicious, nervously shifting his knife from palm to palm as he watched all of the others in the room.

Quincy didn't open his eyes from where he lay panting. "I... I don't know." he said,  
his face tight and pinched in apparent heavy pain and weakness. "Oh, my chest!"

Mike spoke about the grip he had on the coroner's brachial artery through the jacket's sleeve to Johnny and Roy. "120, strong and regular. Not an M.I.. And most of this blood's well clotted up."

Johnny finally piped up. "Can we please get over there with the gear?" he prompted the two convicts.

Stu was making a face at the sour smell of rotting blood wafting off of Quincy's clothes. He covered his nose, waving them on ahead with disgust. "No moves."

Roy and Johnny grabbed for the trauma and drug gear boxes. And almost, for the orange one, the biophone. They left it where it sat, latched tight, on the table.

"How long ago did this happen?" Roy asked, beginning to slice off Quincy's blood soaked jacket with his shears as he crouched over him.

"I ...I don't know. I guess I must have... blacked out.." said their gray haired patient.

Johnny Gage began a quick head to toe sweep with his hands."You got any kind of identification on you? Any kind of..." One hand stopped at a lump in a side pocket. "Is this your wallet?"

Quincy gripped his wrist quickly and met his eyes directly with both of his suddenly clear wide open ones. "Yes.." he said with vague implication. Then they closed again in a grimace as he turned his head away to gag a bit.

"What's the matter?" Ice prompted Johnny, his caution streak on hyper drive.

Johnny was perplexed and his face mirrored it as he peeled off gripping fingers.  
"Nothing so far... uh, I just found out how we can find out who he is.." Gage replied honestly, only partially tipped off. He dug out Quincy's wallet. He had cracked it only long enough to read the name when the metal of the coroner's shield badge almost winked betrayingly in the bright light surrounding them. "His name's Quincy. H-He's 55 years old from Pasadena. No medical alert or medical insurance card, Roy."

Ice started laughing. "No insurance? That means he can't pay? No wonder the muggers left him alive. He had no cash on him."

Stu capitulated with a like grin. "Poor bastard. Beaten to within an inch of his life... Boy, do I know how that feels."

Gage flashed a fast glance at Roy and cleared his throat. "Yeah, we might have been working with a 'dead' guy." he mumbled, tossing the wallet onto the coroner's stomach for safe keeping.

"A what?" DeSoto asked, distracted by the blood pressure he was starting to take. "He doesn't seem that serious to me."

"A death guy.. I mean almost,...a real one.." Gage coughed, he hinted vaguely,  
continuing his sweep down both of Quincy's twitching legs.

Roy paused in pumping up the mercury dial on the blood pressure cuff. "Death guy?"

Johnny picked up Quincy's folded wallet and held it up. "I mean this was a really important thing and the gang who attacked him completely missed it."  
Then he smiled, artificially. "How stupid can they get?"

Right then the newborn baby girl in the oven started crying.

And on the floor between the three firefighters, Quincy started smiling.  
He sat up.

Johnny's face fell wide open, "Whoa,, wait a minute.." he muttered when he realized what Quincy was about to do, very concerned for his safety once their captors learned what he was.

But Quincy just shrugged, still seated, as his captors quickly figured out that he was faking. "That's better. I knew the baby had to be here somewhere."

Stu got angry. "Just what do you think you were going to do, old man?" he said, aiming his gun right at Quincy's head. "Tackle the two of us?"

Roy, Johnny and Mike scrambled out of range, pressed protectively against the cabinets with their backs as they remained silent.

Quincy eyed up the fire fighters. "It's okay. I had to do this. I had to know if that poor mother's baby was still alive." he said, staying seated on the floor with his hands carefully placed out in the open, palms down on top of the linoleum. He ignored the BP cuff dangling from his arm as he calmly looked at Stu. "At my age, mister? Ridiculous! I acted purely on my own. Do you see any police car lights flashing away out there?"

Ice's eyes shifted back and forth, suddenly calculating. "He's not a cop then.  
Cops wouldn't do this kind of stunt. They'd storm through the windows, shooting in tear gas grenades and other stuff. Maybe he's family or a neighbor of the chick I wasted who lives nearby or something."

"Who exactly are you?" Stu demanded, setting a foot onto one of the empty chairs surrounding Chet. For added emphasis, he shifted his gun hand to rest on top of Kelly, its muzzle aimed casually up at the bottom of Chet's jawline.

The injured firefighter's breathing began to pick up in his effort to inhale with the added weight of Stu's hand on his chest. "Ughh.." Chet groaned, half out.

Roy called out a warning. "Chet, stay still."

Stu just grinned. "I'm waiting. Nicely. Answer the question."

Quincy licked his lips, his earlier bravado forgotten.  
"All right. I'm a medical examiner with the county. We found the mother a few hours ago in the alleyway and once we discovered her baby was missing, I came back to search for it where they last found her. You weren't hard to find.  
The blood trail led me straight up to the back door."

"In the middle of a prison riot that was flooding the whole neighborhood?" Ice wondered, tilting his head with exasperation.

"I...can get a little impulsive when it comes to lost children." Quincy admitted.  
"Not one of my finer points, I'm told. It usually gets me into trouble."

Stu smiled again. "Like now."

Ice's ire wasn't finished yet.  
"You must be off your rocker, old man! Covering yourself up in a day old corpse's blood just to get inside a fire station that had major trouble brewing? That's... that's just plain disgusting!" Ice said, waving away the stench on Quincy's clothes with a grimace.

"What can I say? I am a little nuts. Why do you think I work with dead bodies and not live people most of the time? And your behavior now is showing me that you no longer know how to act around innocent people who've done you no harm at all." Quincy told him. "Like around that tiny baby screaming her frightened little head off over there."

Quincy's accusation caught Ice a little off guard. His rage wilted and immediately turned soft and uncertain. He headed towards the infant squawling behind him,  
reaching a pair of blood caked fingers out to her. "No... I...She's mine. Even if it's only for a little while. I won't hurt her." he whispered. "I made her a promise." he smiled.

"Good for her. Where do WE stand in your line of thought?" Quincy asked. "Are we going to end up being just a pile of shredded, rotten meat, too, like that baby's mother, when all of this is over?"

Stu eyebrows rose in surprise. Then he let the coroner talk, half amused at the effect the man was having on his cellmate.

"No.. no.. uh, I don't know." Ice said defensively, uncomfortable. "That depends."

"Depends on what?" Quincy pressed, slowly moving backwards until his back rested against the cabinet doors, too. Calmly, he laced his fingers together over a knee after he kicked away the cut remnants of his stinking coat with a shoe.

"On whether or not any of you rat on us that we're here." Ice replied sarcastically.

At this, Tony the repair man's nervousness suddenly flared. His eyes shot to the truck's radio that Ice had tucked into a sleeve.

Startling, Ice snatched it out and made sure it was turned off. Just to be sure, he pulled out the Nicad battery from its back and threw it across the room.

The communications man flinched at the clatter and Roy held up a hand in front of him to calm him down. "It's okay. That was never on. That's not your fault." he said with strong emphasis to Ice so that fact finally registered on the crazed young convict.

But even at Roy's words, Tony remained trembling and twitchy.

"Why is he still acting so nervous?" Ice demanded.

Tony jerked and finally blurted out. "I got A.D.D. man... I... I can't handle stress... I'm sorry.." and he began to sob quietly. "I just really wish people knew we were here, you know. Can you blame me?" He glanced up once, at Cap, before lowering his eyes again. His hands motioned turning a dial subtlely behind a covered palm.

Cap tilted his jaw as his mind processed that. He parroted the same back at Tony.

Tony bobbed his head twice, with another confirming glance at Hank, before sagging once again into a very real tearful submission.

Hank leaned into Marco next to him and whispered. "Chet's HT is on the air in the bay."

"Here's hoping." Lopez said, equally sotto voce.

Cap went on out loud. "We've been thinking the same thing ourselves for hours now. It's only natural to want an out."

"Just like you, when you acted on it." Quincy said, too, looking at Ice and Stu quietly.  
"Why should we have to pay the price for your illegal freedom? She sure did."  
he said, indicating the baby.

Ice's face was struck with a sudden horror and he dropped his knife onto the floor.

Kelly coughed weakly, coming further out of sedation. Sighing deeply, Stu blinked as if he had just become aware of the discomfort he was causing Chet. He picked up his gun hand with a shrug and returned to his usual place, seated in Cap's recliner.

To Roy and Johnny's relief, Chet breathing began to even out from its hard laboring, that had been caused by Stu's added weight, into a normal quality.

Stu began spinning his bullets in their magazine casing as he waved the two paramedics to go care for their friend. "Today was Russian roulette, old pal." He said to Ice, who was falling to pieces in front of him. "Just like I've been trying to tell ya. Society says we're evil through and through. There is always a price paid in the end, for being that, Ice. And I'm afraid that price comes now. I know it, and I think you've finally learned it, too. At last. What have you got to say for yourself?"

Ice was left standing alone and unsupported. The task of addressing the others clearly had been passed on to him. Ice's confidence was shaken enough that he picked up the crying baby and her heated towel into his arms for comfort. He tried cooing to hush her, but nothing worked. He was entirely unaware that the knife had slipped from his fingers. "You do as we say, all of you!" he said, raging, but his eyes were finally filling with tears of sudden guilt and remorse as he stared at and finally understood the unhappy, falling tears of the baby. Tears that he, and he alone, had caused.

In the leather chair, Stu nodded with satisfaction that his lesson about life to Ice was being heeded. He stopped spinning his gun's bullet chamber and began to empty them out, one by one into his lap until he was completely disarmed.

He didn't resist when the firemen rushed him and Ice both and tied them up with long pieces of torn phone cording.

"Chet! ... Chet! Can you hear me?" Gage shouted as he reassessed Kelly's awareness with a sternal rub.

Kelly barely felt it, but he spit out the noisy suction tube Roy was using on him to clear a large amount of bloody saliva out of his mouth. "Stop.. It's gone.  
I'm awake. How's...*gasp*... the baby?"

"Pink and healthy. Just the way I like them." Quincy said, showing her off to Chet proudly.

Marco wanted to know something. "How did you know your barging in here was going to work out?" he asked the coroner.

"I didn't. I just got lucky. I mean, what DO convicts do when cops don't storm the riot as planned?" Quincy shrugged. Then he eyed up the biophone on the table between them. "Want me to set up the comm line?"

"I got it." Johnny said with irritation that he hadn't thought of it yet.

"Easy. You're a paramedic. Any airway always comes first." Quincy said with amusement as he watched Chet's stabilization proceedings with a curious eye.

"Where's Mike and Cap?" Roy wondered, glancing around after he started Chet's I.V. and another piggy backed round of meperidine.

Tony replied. "Watching those two thugs. I think they're chaining them up to the fire engine out in the bay until the police get here. Speaking of which,  
my buddy's still out there." He jogged to the door and flung it open. "Hey, Frank! Get in here, we've still got a communications net to fix- Oh, yeah, fellas.. I think your dog's alive."

"What? He is?!" Gage said.

"Yeah, I heard him whining somewhere under the engine right before the young crazy one grabbed me."

Gage looked at Quincy.. "Doc."

Quincy handed Roy the baby eagerly. He was ecstatic that she was happy once more following a little glucose paste under the tongue. "I'll see what I can do." And with that, he grabbed the trauma box from the table to hurry out to the bay.  
He turned back a second later. "Uh, is it okay to treat him? I don't have a license for it."

"He's not our dog. He's nobody's dog. He just shows up whenever he feels like it.  
Go ahead. Just go and take care of him if you can. I won't tell." Johnny grinned.

Out in the bay, Cap was snapping out orders. "Once you've made sure we got those two secured, pop open the main doors for the future calvary, will ya?" he asked Mike.

"Sure thing, Cap." said Stoker, testing the chains around Ice and Stu.

Hank noticed Quincy coming in at a jog from the kitchen. "How's Chet?"

"Awake and complaining with every breath." Quincy reported. "He seems stable to me, but what do I know? I'm not a paramedic."

"Then what are you doing with that?" Hank asked, pointing at the medical gear box in the coroner's hand.

"This? It's for your dog. That radio repairman says he was still making some noise by the engine when he got here. Shot was he?"

"Boot? Yeah. I thought he was a goner." Then he looked down at the gagged and chained pair of convicts that had lorded it up over them all. "Whew! Thank goodness these guys were lousy shots." he said with some heat. "Let's go look for him, we've got time now. Stoker!"

"Yeah, Cap?"

"Watch them! If they so much as peep, brain 'em in self defense."

"With pleasure." said Mike, hefting a halligan tool openly as a control measure.

Stu said nothing. He was calm in his tight metal chain link bindings, sitting with a gentle dignity. Ice continued to sob with permanently lost sanity, next to him.

A piercing whine that wasn't a siren echoed through the bay, shifting every head.  
And there was Boot, crawling out from behind one of the Ward's tires. He clutched an H.T. radio in his mouth as he whimpered, dragging himself towards them.

Cap took it gently from his jaws as the blood damp shaggy dog collapsed into his arms with a sigh. "Hey there, pal. Easy. We've got you. And thank you for the extra ear. Just relax. It's about time we rescued you for once." Then he hefted up the handy talkie. "L.A., this is Station 51. We're Code 4. Two suspects have been apprehended. Send an ambulance and an additional paramedic squad for a Code I and a neonate, along with P.D. to take our escaped convicts into custody. And see if 905 Wild is available for a pick up. We have a canine with a GSW." he replied. He set down the radio and began gently putting pressure onto Boot's shoulder wound with a dressing Quincy handed him.

##10-4, Station 51. Ambulance and squad E.T.A. is four minutes. 905 reports they are a block away. Time out 2103.## replied a very happy Sam Lanier.

Boot sighed, and lapsed into grateful unconsciousness.

"Oh, no no no.. Boot! Open your eyes, pal." Cap worried, placing a hand on top of Boot's ribcage to feel for respirations.

"He's fine." said Quincy, tossing his head downwards at a grip he had around one of Boot's hind legs. "There's a femoral pulse point here.  
It's still strong, Captain. I suspect he's just tired. This bleeding isn't arterial and there isn't much of it at all on the floor. I wouldn't be surprised if this was just a creasing shot with no pulmonary involvement."

"I'll get some oxygen from the Ward.." Cap said eagerly. "That should amount to something."

"It sure would. I'll take over." said the coroner, applying a ne on top of the old one on Boot's shoulder. "Easy, Boot. I know I smell like something the cat dragged in, but really, I'm one of the good guys." he smiled, stroking the black and tan dog's matted head.

Gage came running in from the kitchen. Then he did a double take and screeched to a halt on the concrete, his shoes squealing. "Oh, my God, Boot! I forgot all about him."

"He's alive and... well, maybe not kicking. But this gun shot wound appears superficial. We've got his bleeding under control." Quincy said in answer to Johnny's unspoken question.

Gage didn't lose his dubious expression until he felt a good pulse on Boot's other hind leg. "Man, this has all been too much... Where's Cap?"

"Getting oxygen for your dog. What's happened? Do you need me?"

"Not yet." Johnny grinned. "Chet's definitely lost that halo chance for today. And we're not going to be needing your services on the baby either. She's rallying. Guess she was just getting a little hungry a few minutes ago during the big surrender. We've fully corrected that blood sugar imbalance. Oh, yeah. How's our jail bait doing? By law, I gotta check." he said, tossing a head at Ice and Stu with barely veiled hostility.

"One's in a break down, and the other, I'd say, has found his final peace. But then again, I'm not a psychologist."

Gage grinned gratefully.  
"No, you're just an incredible forensic detective. I wanna thank you. From all of us. You probably saved our lives."

"That's refeshing. Not exactly a concept I'm used to in my line of work. You're welcome." Quincy said, shaking his hand.

Johnny rose to his feet again, hurrying for the squad.. "I gotta run. I'm supposed to be grabbing a stokes for Chet so we can move him outside for a faster rendevous. Rampart wants him transported A.S.A.P. They haven't seen a popped bleb without a spontaneous pneumothorax before. Brackett's just itching to get his hands on him to see what it looks like on film."

"Now that's language I understand. A minor lung insult, finally resolving as just another routine medical curiosity for the journals." Quincy said.

Cap rushed up with the engine's resuscitator. "Gage, put him on six liters. That's an order."

Johnny skidded back over to Boot's side and landed neatly on his knees.  
"Willing and able." Johnny said, deftly curving a mask around Boot's crusted muzzle as the flow Cap dialed up began. "See you at Doc Coolidge's, Boot. Expect a whole bowl full of Livasnaps when you wake up." He said, stroking Boot's head around Quincy's aiding hands. "Maybe we'll try to sneak you into Chet's room later on."

"Now, Gage! The stokes?!" Hanks prompted again, pulling a yellow plastic shock sheet over Boot's body.

"Make up your mind already, geesh.." Gage complained, skidding once again across the blood encrusted floor for the squad. "Johnny do this, Johnny do that. Paramedics aren't super human, you know."

"Only dogs.." whispered Cap fondly, staying near Boot's ear, so he could hear him.

Sam Fujiyama rushed into the fire station's open front garage doors with a pair of S.W.A.T. who brandished their weapons in a crisp 360.

Quincy tossed up his head. "Ah, that's enough guns for one day. They're disarmed,  
gentlemen. There's been a murder in the alley. The mother's body is already at the hospital but her unborn baby was saved and is being treated in the kitchen. And that one did it." he said, pointing to Ice as he displayed his coroner's I.D. and badge.

"We'll take it from here, sir."  
The two armored police officers moved swiftly to take over for Mike Stoker. They still smelled faintly of riot gas from an earlier incident. And just beyond, a Mayfair and the second rescue squad pulled up. Personnel scrambled, also noticing the bloody footprints surrounding the others.

Sam crouched over where Cap and Quincy were working. He eyed up the blood on the floor. "His or yours?" He said pointing between Quincy and the station's dog.

"All his. I'm fine." the coroner grinned. "Now I'm just playing visiting veterinarian for this sweet little boy of theirs. Give me a hand?"

"Sure." and Sam joined them in sliding the limp Boot onto a short spinal board in prep for transportation. "Remind me to never let you do that kind of thing again. You had me worried sick."

"But you weren't worried to death. You're still here, so no harm done." Quincy quipped as he watched Cap do up the safety straps around his pressure applying hands.

"So say you. Just wait until you hear what Dr. Asten has to say to the both of us."  
Sam snapped. "I just got off the gas station payphone with him and believe me, my ears are still blistering."

"After the last half hour I've had, that sounds divine." Quincy said. "But only after I've hit a shower, huh?"

"Youcanuseoneofours." Cap said, swiftly, eagerly, trying not to make a face.

Quincy finally caught on as he sniffed himself. "Phew! Sam, do our autopsies always smell this bad?"

Sam just looked at him. "Don't tell me you've always been too busy to notice..."

Quincy just shrugged in apology, his eyes saying that it was all true. "Thanks, Cap. I ...think I'll take you up on your offer. Last thing my boss would want is me stinking up a county vehicle without good cause."

"You're welcome. Oh, look, 905 Wild is here. Guess you gotta make tracks now for the bathroom to defumigate. Sam, is it? Could you take over for your friend?  
I'm sure Boot's nose would really appreciate it. Look, it's twitching even inside his oxygen mask so anything to make a victim more comfortable..."

"I'm off. I can take a hint easily." Quincy said, mildly chuckling.

"You didn't take mine too well." Sam groused, gingerly taking over Boot's direct pressure.

"You're my partner. I don't have to listen to you all the time." said Quincy as he jogged for the locker rooms. "Oh." And he came jogging back much to Sam and Cap's dismay. "What do I wear afterwards?"

"Anything else but what you're wearing now! *is that man daft?*" Cap said aside to Sam.

"Yes." Sam said deadpan. "Story of my life."

Hank blinked at Sam. Twice. "Okay." And then he waved the coroner off vigorously.  
"There are plenty of extra clothes to choose from in there. Choose Marco's. He's your size. Locker's named."

"Thanks.."

"Hey..." said Lopez in protest, walking by, carrying off Chet in his stokes with Johnny and two new paramedics.

"Marco, I'll foot the cleaning bill myself." Cap promised with passion. "Just trust me. He needed to decontam immediately."

Roy was following with the baby girl in his arms and a fresh oxygen tank for her under his elbow. "What? Where?" His ears had perked up over the whisper along biohazard veins.

"Nothing. It's minutiae." Hank replied.

"Not to me..." Lopez glared..

"Just go." Cap told his men. "And that's an order to all of you."

Roy and Johnny shrugged and continued loading their two patients with only occasional side glances at Boot being loaded into his emergency vet pound truck by Cap and Sam.

Les and Dave from Doc Coolidge's spoke up. "What do we got?"

"GSW. Bullet, not buckshot.." hollered Gage across the driveway from their ambulance.

"Okay.. we'll let him know." they said of their vet. "Thanks, but..." Dave gestured to Sam and Hank who were trying to open one of the rear compartments. "Over here. He rides up front with me. We'll swing back to return your equipment once we're done with it."

"Just get him back in one piece." Cap said, stabbing his finger down on their closing window.  
"A lot of guys are very testy around here."

"I can see that."  
Les gave him a thumbs up and activated the truck's light bar, Code Three, and then they were roaring off down the deserted boulevard.

Photo: An E and J resuscitator off of Engine 51.

Photo: Boot lying in a pool of blood.

Photo: Johnny examining an unconscious Boot.

Photo: Quincy eyeing up someone dubiously.

Photo: Roy looking up wearing a stethoscope.

Photo: Cap fretting in the rec room.

Photo: A pool of blood on the bay floor.

Photo: A baby wrapped up in a yellow towel.

Photo: A swat team with a police dog around a building.

Photo: Stu, the convict, behind bars of a prison cell.

Photo: An empty vehicle bay at Station 51.

Photo: Doc Coolidge of the veterinary's clinic.

Photo: Les and Dave from 905 Wild in a vet ambulance.

Photo: Gage looking totally spooked by Engine 51.

************************************************** * From:patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Sat 3/03/12 9:52 PM Subject: Aftermath..

"Gun.. Gun! He's got a ...!" slurred Kelly on the cot through his oxygen mask.

Gage grinned and leaned over his favorite firefighter and put a hand on his chest to keep him from jarring himself in drugged panic.

"Missed a half hour there, did ya? Chet! You're fine. He's gone. We're all safe. You're in an 's why you're tied down. These are just the straps."

Roy, next to them on the rider's bench of the sirens wailing Mayfair,  
crouched protectively over their newborn charge with one of the EMT attendants. They were heating warming packs and giving her some physical stimulation to improve her circulation. DeSoto set a Datascope paddle he had warmed up on top of her body to get a cardiac reading.  
"Think he understands you? We really torked him out on that meperedine."

"Yeah. He understands. A part of him anyway. See?" Gage said as Chet cocked his head drowsily, but with some relaxation, at the sound of the sirens. "How's she doing?" he said, tossing his head at the swaddled newborn.

"Her apgar score's five. Better, but there's a new issue going on. I think I know what it is." he said, nodding to the EMT to take another apical pulse rate check on the baby to double check the monitor. He picked up the line to Rampart on the Apcor once more. "Rampart,...Squad 51."

Brackett picked up the line. ##Still here. How's our two patients?##

"Victim number one. Stable, breath sounds unchanged. Altered level of status but that may just be the intervention med. Victim number two,  
is showing mild hyperkalemia, with peaked T waves, some widened QRS complexes, and a disappearing P wave. Rhythm is now sinus tach at 160. Respirations 55. Permission to separate the umbilical cord and placenta. This may be the start of secondary rhabdomyolysis."

##Granted. I concur with your diagnosis and choice of treatment. The baby's heart rate should begin to slow once necrotic toxins stop entering her body. Be sure to save all parts of the after birth to reaffirm lack of rentention in the u- Sorry,.. Never mind on that last order. Dr. Early just updated me on the DOA status of the baby's mother. Since it's been hours since birth, counteract her cardiac difficulty through the umbilical stub vein with a 10cc's isotonic colloidal challenge. Administer another five if her heart rate does not drop down within a short interval. Begin chest compression support at 100 times a minute if her cardiac rate falls below 60."

"10-4, 10cc's iso-colloid push, 5cc's secondary to lack of improvement. CPR on bradycardic limit." DeSoto repeated back.

##51, how's her perfusion?##

"One on Apgar, limbs are still blue, but she's conscious on the O2 without an adjunct."

##Good enough. Give me a set of vitals on Victim One.##

Johnny Gage took Roy's phone receiver. "Vitals are: BP 92/60, pulse rate 54, respirations, shallow at 9."

##That's the meperedine. Lungs?##

"Clear and patent left side, dull on percussion with wheezing on the lower right. Some epistaxis shows light pink phlegm due to previous coughing."

##Maintain suction as needed and keep his I.V. wide open. Bring them in A.S.A.P.. Gently!##

Johnny sighed. "10-4, Rampart. Our E.T.A. is three minutes."  
Gage tossed down the phone. "We think we had it bad? How much you want to bet Brackett and the others have seen prison riot carnage worse than ours?"

"No bet." said Roy, keeping a few fingers on the baby's brachial pulse.  
He took the syringe of I.V. solution the EMT had prepared a few seconds later and began to use it. "One thing I can't figure out.. is why that county coroner risked his skin for us. He didn't have to."

"Like the man said, he's crazy." Gage shrugged, steadying himself against the sway of the rushing ambulance. "All I know is that his office is going to get a hefty load of donuts come tomorrow morning, for doing it."

"Can you afford that?" DeSoto asked.

"Yes, I can afford that. I...well..."

Roy smiled ironically, unsurprised.  
"I'll help. Cause we both know that Cap will eventually reimburse us both back once the unofficial paperwork goes through about the mutual aid." he smiled. "Speaking of which, I don't think I'm going to tell Joanne about this one."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to." Johnny said. "I think I saw a press van pull up as we were pulling away. They must have seen the police crime tape going up."

"Don't remind me. I think I'm starting to shake about it." Roy said,  
rubbing his face to wake himself up out of a slight daze.

Gage set a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. We're gonna be okay. Just a few nightmares for a few days and then it'll be all over." He leaned back in the treatment chair. "It already is." he said with levity.

"Yeah." DeSoto grinned back. But it was only half hearted at best.

A new wail of sirens behind them got their attention.

Gage straightened up and peeked out the Mayfair's back windows.  
"Is that the Engine following us?"

"Uh, huh. We still needed our follow by a backup. Squad Ten got another call after ours." He started to pick his fingers absently. "Uh, Cap also said that we're getting our first crisis debrief session, right at the hospital."

"Oh, terrific. I can hardly wait." Gage said sarcastically. "I wonder when the cops get their first crack at us." Johnny groused.

"Probably at the same time. That Quincy said his Lt. Monahan overheard most of the live dialog going over Boot's radio from Sam's comm station."

Johnny was quiet for a long time, studying Chet's sleeping face without seeing it. Then he spoke again. "I don't know about you, but scared or not,  
I didn't eat anything while those convicts ate. I could use the good food chance at Rampart."

"So can I."

Gage's stomach grumbled. "Listen... Roy, what do you say we try to get Brackett to hold off Headquarters' CISM counselors for a while. Think we can do that?" Johnny wondered. "I... I really think I need a chance to soak it all in, know what I mean?"

DeSoto nodded, agreeing with his partner.  
"Any fire personnel's physical emergency treatment always come first.  
Hunger is a need that has to be treated in my book. And Dr. Brackett's."

"Good. Let's have a really long meal then. And an even longer shower."  
Johnny's stomach began to growl even louder. "Hot d*mn. Now I'm really hungry."

"So's she.." Roy quipped, letting the distressed baby clasp a grip around one of his gloved fingers. "I guess that means we're all getting better."

Gage shook a doubtful head at him. "Not by a long shot. I left all the confidence I ever had in myself back at the station."

Roy, troubled, didn't know what to say in reply.

Photo: Chet on oxygen on an ambulance cot.

Photo: A newborn with an ambu bag near her.

Photo: A Mayfair pulled up at Rampart.

Photo: Crime scene tape closeup.

Photo: Roy looking stunned in a Mayfair.

Photo: Gage listening to breath sounds in a Mayfair.

Animated Gif: A lights flashing Mayfair's rear doors. Custom shot.

From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Sat 3/31/12 3:22 AM Subject: Nightingales

Dixie McCall met the ambulance with two orderlies and a running incubator on a gurney. She didn't even blink when the huge Ward La France from Station 51 pulled up alongside the fence adjacent to the ambulance entrance. She waved over a pair of nurses to check out the three firefighters who were numbly climbing out of the engine cab. "Their names are Marco, Mike, and Hank."  
she told them.

"Right." they replied, moving forward with cups of hot coffee to soften a very gentle medical welfare status interview they had to begin.

Sharon Walters, backing up Dixie, pulled open the Mayfair's rear unloading doors even before the two EMTs had fully set it into park. "Johnny? Roy?  
We were so worried about you."

"You had us on the airwaves?" Gage said, unlocking Chet's stretcher from the floor brackets.

"Yes." Dixie told him, no nonsense. "How's Kelly?" asked, turning his EKG monitor that was resting on top of his blanketed legs so she could see it.

"Very stable. What you're seeing is just drugs." Johnny shared tiredly.

Dixie's eye fell appraisingly on Roy's shirt and the blood stains there. "Did any other firefighters get hurt?"

"Not physically." replied an EMT honestly when none of the gang spoke up in answer to her question as they slowly gathered around the Mayfair to help unload the stretcher and Squad 51's paramedic gear.

Dixie reached out eager hands even before Roy slid down towards her along the rider's bench. "I'll take her, Roy. The Mayfair's stopped moving."

DeSoto was surprised when his cradling grip holding the newborn in his arms didn't loosen. "Huh?...I'm.. I know, Dixie. I.. just can't seem to let go." he said a little dully, his eyes suddenly empty with exhaustion.

McCall's face was calculating as she studied the pale faces around her.  
"More than one kind of shock going on in the rig and both of you don't even realize it. And it doesn't help that you have kids of your own, Roy. You're a father even before you are a paramedic." she said climbing in quickly, helping him out by pulling Roy's fingers off the baby's blanket one by one, as she gathered the little girl into her arms. "Malcolm,.. get ready use the bag on her with the heated oxygen a.s.a.p." she told her orderly helpers outside.  
"She's breathing fine. Just offer it for warmth." she decided as she deftly assessed the child.

"Yes, ma'am." he replied, receiving the baby from the head nurse gingerly.  
The tiny child began to cry at the pass off as cold night air seeped into her bloody blanket. He dropped it to the ground and replaced it with a hot one from the incubator.

Roy added more."She wasn't cut up during the- the-" he mumbled.

"...killing." Dixie supplied gently. "I know. You said as much during your transmissions to the base station." she said, her face now lined with worry for the gang as well.

"We're.. mostly fine, Miss McCall." said Stanley as he got out of the way of the Mayfair EMTs as they unloaded Chet. "This is probably shell shock."

Dixie looked at him appraisingly, with a smile for his benefit.  
"I remember from Viet Nam. Head for the showers, captain, or the cafeteria.  
Whichever you prefer first. We'll meet up with all of you fellas only when you're ready." Dixie replied.

Sharon helped an unsteady Johnny step down when he almost dropped Chet's I.V. bag. She took it from his shaky hands and hung it onto the portable stretcher's pole. "Johnny, easy. It's over. We're all here."  
she soothed out loud, one hand also going to Chet's shoulder to help end some of his drugged agitation. "Dr. Brackett says he doesn't need a report from either of you for this run. Concentrate on relaxing.  
Starting right now."

"Is that an order?" Gage tried to grin at the blue smocked, doe eyed nurse.

"If that's what it takes." Sharon blinked back, suddenly sheepish. But then her new R.N. training took over. "Any other symptoms that appear past the current ones we're seeing, and I want to hear from you." she said, pointing a sweeping admonishing finger at the gang.

"You'll get no argument from us." Hank agreed wholeheartedly.

"Cap, should I lock up the engine?" Stoker asked.

Hank did a double take at his fireman in fresh worry. "You already did."

"Oh." Mike said very softly. "Must have... slipped my mind."

Hank smiled lightly at his engineer.  
"Better drink up that coffee. And guys, we're all gonna stick together!" he admonished. "Nobody leaves property until I say so." he said, taking a big gulp of his.

"And that includes trying to make a phone call to friends and family."  
added a new voice. It was Lt. Monahan from L.A.P.D. "Get yourselves checked out first. And that includes you, too, captain. You're all off duty as of right now for the duration!" he grumbled as he handed Roy and Johnny their therapeutic cups of coffee.

Gage and Roy dully took them as they watched painfully as their patients and gear got taken away from them by suddenly appearing additional support staff.

"And no talking to the press either. They're here." Frank shared unenthusiastically, as he eyeballed the news van already filming the E.R. entrance's view and the parked fire engine from behind the triage cones taped barricade.

"You're the boss, detective." Hank inclined his head as he took off his helmet. "I do realize that my whole station is now a crime scene." Then he turned off and pocketed his H.T. radio into his turnout.

Seconds later, Captain Stanley, Marco and Stoker were herded in by their nurses, after the others, into Rampart.

As they walked, Gage suddenly turned to Walters. "Sharon, could you,  
stay with us? I mean, we could really use a really good friend right about now for the rest of the night."

"Sure." she smiled. "Right after I make sure Chet gets squared away with his doctors." She stopped him at the door of the treatment room with a hand to his chest, barring his entry in after Kelly's gurney.

"Well, who's got him?" Gage fretted.

"Dr. Early and Dr. Brackett. Personally." Walters promised. "I wouldn't have had it any other way." She told him no nonsense. "It didn't seem right not to have the best doctors possible when they were just standing around and available."

Nearby, Roy got distracted by a drinking fountain.

Something very taut in Johnny's eyes crumbled into sudden tears that quickly mirrored in Sharon's own.

"Oh, Johnny." she sighed. "I was so scared for you." she sniffled,  
wiping away tears with an embarrassed arm, suddenly self conscious about being seen as she broke down and seeped at the seams.

Gingerly, Gage reached out, took her hand, and squeezed it. "I'm all right. If not now, I soon will be. It's okay."

Quickly, they hid their emotions and dropped their hands as Roy returned to their side, his thirst slaked.

DeSoto broke the tension with five words. "So she's your date, huh?"

"You knew?" Gage asked incredulous.

"Not until now. And I never would have guessed it." Roy reassured them back. "Want to keep it a secret?"

"Too late." Sharon said as the three of them received a curious but amused glance from a passing orderly.

"Oh, too bad. I guess no betting pool this week then back at the station."  
DeSoto mused tiredly.

"You bet on dates?" Sharon asked, suddenly incensed at Johnny.

"Not me. I mean, they do. About me and who I-" Gage sputtered.

"What?!" Sharon levitated.

Johnny burbled.  
"It's not as bad as you think. I mean, I never get dates. Roy can tell you that. And if Chet were here, he'd tell you that all I ever do is crash and burn all the time. That is, until we started going out." Gage defended.

Sharon's face fell into a delightful, shy pout. "Really?"

"Yeah. Sharon..." Johnny urged, taking up her hand again. "I was totally floored when you said yes the other day. And I plan to be a perfect gentleman about the whole thing."

"Okay, I guess betting isn't so bad." said Walters. Then her nose wrinkled.  
"Whew, smells like somebody needs a pair of showers around here. Why don't you two go pretty up now. Johnny, I'll see you later." she said, winking and opening the door into Chet's emergency treatment room.

"It's a deal." Gage said, finally smiling without stress, as the door closed between them.

Beside him, Roy visibly relaxed, unconsciously having been comforted by some normal, healthy, witnessed social interaction. "Best bet I ever lost." he mumbled.

Photo: Dixie offloading a Mayfair at night with Roy and a pair of EMTs.

Photo: Gage looking distressed by a treatment room cabinet.

Photo: A whole block of Carson behind crime tape.

Photo: Lt. Frank Monahan at Rampart, opening a door.

Photo: Engine 51 arriving under Rampart's skywalk.

Photo: Sharon Walters looking worried.

Photo: Dixie and Sharon working in a hallway.

Photo: Chet on oxygen in a close up.

From:patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Wed 4/11/12 2:21 PM Subject: Bedside Buttkick

It was an hour later, and Chet Kelly was still waiting in the treatment room to be admitted to a bed on the general floors. The three ring doctor circus his rare pulmonary injury had caused upon his arrival to Rampart had long since died away. Dr. Morton, Dr. Early and Dr. Brackett were already so bored with the fireman's findings, that they had disappeared into the bowels of the hospital for a much needed break and a few meals.

"I wish I could eat." grumbled Kelly to Dixie McCall, the nurse who was nearest his gurney. "Everybody else is doing it. Probably even Boot by now."

McCall cracked an amused grin as she checked the rate of his I.V. flow above his head. "Can't eat if you're on narcotics. Doctor's orders. It's a choking risk. You can't swallow decently enough right now to make sure anything you chew goes to your stomach properly. You might try to fill up that lung again. That's why I handed you that suction tube to suck on whenever you feel those clots making good on their escape."

"You have medicine that makes a guy hack up lung scabs, but not one that allows him to feed himself? That's messed up." Chet grimaced, coughing again through his oxygen mask to liberate a few more.

"Easy." Dixie said, raising his gurney's head a little higher. "It's either that or a state where you're feeling a whole lot of pain."

"I'm a man, I can take it."

"Well, I'm a nurse and it's my job to make sure you don't." she quipped right back.  
"Believe me, you don't want to be on the receiving end of an exploratory bronchoscopy if stress from pain starts making you bleed out again."

"That's funny, Johnny said pretty much the same thing on the way in." Chet mused thoughtfully as he began to tie his oxygen tubing into loose fireman's knots just to amuse himself. He finished and held up a mock hangman's noose, making a funny face about it for her benefit as he staged a fake execution of his I.V.-less hand and wrist through it.

"Smart paramedic." Dixie shared. "For your information, you're awake for those and you can feel every finger jammed down your throat while they poke around with microscope cameras, probes, and suction tubing."

"Doesn't matter, does it? It wouldn't have hurt." Kelly said confidently.

Dixie just gave him a very long look and sat down on an exam stool near his head to run out another EKG strip for Chet's medical chart. "When was the last time you swallowed a spaghetti noodle the wrong way?"

Chet finally squirmed under his sheets. "Oh, really?" he grimaced with disgust.

"Picture being subjected to that after they paralyze you so you can't gag." McCall shared spookily. "You're left awake so you can hold your breath on cue."

Kelly finally moused down. "Should you... really be sharing the nitty gritty truths of ER hospital procedures like this?" he said, quietly horrified. "You know I hate hospitals with a passion."

Dixie just shrugged.  
"You're a friend. I have to say something to keep you behaving like a good trauma patient now that the meperidine's worn off."

Kelly's face gaped big into sudden worry. "Whoa, wait a minute. M-my pain killer's,..  
...all gone?"

"Yep." McCall nodded, still writing in her chart. "We changed it out for some Versed a few minutes ago. You're feeling your lung pain right now.." she said, indicating the fast heartbeat on the EKG monitor. "... but you aren't remembering it from moment to moment. That way you can keep your brain active normally. It's much safer that way." she shrugged again.

Chet stayed silent, feeling his EKG stickered hairy chest for sore spots with ginger hands.

At his continued look of horror, McCall reiterated. "Oh for Pete's sake, Chet. Versed's an amnesia drug. Short circuits short term memory pain signals from your nerves. We tricked the awake side of your brain into thinking you're fine for a while. That's much better than sedating you into a coma, don't you think?"

Kelly made a face. "I'd rather see pink elephants." he grumbled.

"Uh, uh.. Bad idea." came a new voice, chidingly.  
Behind them, Carol the nurse began chortling where she was preparing another I.V. bag for Chet's use. "You said you saw all of us nurses running around in bikinis when you first got in here."

"I did not!" Chet said loudly, blushing right down to his toes.

Dixie grinned. "You said I was in one that was black with white polka dots."

"And mine was all yellow bananas." Carol smiled, before putting a mock surprised finger to her lips. "Oh, but that's right, you can't remember any of it." she teased about his Versed dose.

Chet regained some shreds of humor, but it was mixed with some very self conscious doubt. "Did I say what the doctors were wearing?"

McCall stopped writing but didn't look up. "I...think you mumbled, 'Just stethoscopes.'  
Isn't that right, Carol?"

"I can't recall." Evans replied professionally. "I was too busy tying Chet's arms down so he wouldn't leave the bed to go chasing after them."

Chet's look of horror magnified expotentially and he began sputtering in utter mortification.

Both nurses finally let him off the hook. "Relax, Chet. We're teasing you. Laughter is the best medicine as they keep saying." Dixie said no nonsense.

"For you or for me?" Kelly said, almost hyperventilating, which made him start another clot clearing cough, which is what everybody medical wanted.

"Hopefully for all, Mr. Kelly." Carol told him. "But apparently your leg is too long for any pulling tonight."

Kelly sighed, making a face at the tickling he imagined in his lung at the height of it.  
"I've been through a lot. Can you make me forget what happened today?"

Carol and Dixie fell into seriousness and neither nurse spoke for a second or two.  
"Afraid not. That'll be something for the crisis counselors to deal with." Dixie finally said.

"Oh, great. I forgot about Cap's usual debriefing order. When are they coming in?" Chet scoffed with displeasure.

Dixie answered truthfully. "On the afternoon right before you're scheduled to get discharged. In about three days or so. I...figured we could talk a bit about it before then. Doesn't that sound like a decent plan?" she said, finally meeting his eyes gently in concern.

Kelly looked away, emotionally uncomfortable. He began to untie his creative tubing artwork so his oxygen mask no longer strained to deliver its flow. "Yeah. I could use a mental load off or two." Chet said afterwards.

Reaching out, Dixie took his still shaking hand into her own soft one and smiled.

Photo: Dixie smirking at her desk.

Photo: Chet on oxygen on a treatment bed.

Photo: Gage bored in a Rampart waiting room.

Photo: An officer eyeing up a police taped off Station 51 at night.

************************************************** * Subject: Different Strokes for Different Folks..  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Tue 4/24/12 1:14 PM

It was three a.m. in the hospital parking lot. All signs of Carson's city wide rioting were gone except for occasional passing squad cars roaming slowly with silent red lights on to reassure the public.

A dark figure swiftly left Rampart's emergency entrance and made a beeline for the looming silhouette of Engine 51.

A fire gloved hand quickly keyed the lock on the front passenger door and Hank Stanley tiredly clambered into his seat. He startled at the smell of dog blood that hadn't lessened inside the cab despite the number of hours that had passed since the hijacking. He hastily rolled down the window for some fresh air.

::Boot.:: he thought, studying a large smear of gore that Cap realized he must have left on the dashboard as they all rushed to the hospital after Chet's ambulance. :: Oh, no. I forgot to call the vet's office.::  
he frowned. He peeled out of his fire jacket in disgust at its sour smell and dumped it onto the floor on top of his abandoned helmet.  
::The guys are going to flay me alive if I don't get some news about him soon.::

He slumped into his seat, burying his hands into his hair as he leaned wearily on the dashboard and rubbed his burning eyes with a forearm.  
Soon, the night hawks calling from the air as they hunted bugs filtered through the engine's open window and began to soothe Cap bit by bit. It was the first truly normal thing he had encountered since Mike Stoker had opened the backyard door and had found the bloody baby.

Sighing, Hank finally thumbed his handy talkie. "L.A., Engine 51."

##Engine 51.## came Sam's reassuring voice.

"Establish a patch to Battalion One. This is for general communications only. It's...follow up to Station 51's incident."

##10-4, Engine 51, stand by.##

Soon, Chief McConnikee was on the channel. He was still at Station 51, overseeing that all of its equipment was accounted for and secured, along with completing a roof to foundation property damage assessment. ##Hank? How's your firefighter doing?##

"Out of danger. No surgery necessary." Cap replied wearily.

##And the fire department debrief session I authorized with you and your men?##

"Finished for now. The cops are done with us, too. That is, until we're called in as witnesses on their prosecuting court date hearings. Chief,, uh...I'd like to send everybody home from crisis observation at the hospital soon if I may."

## Of course, Hank. At 0600. I've already pushed that through.  
Also, all the big brass think it'll be at least three days before your station's been cleaned and repaired enough for its return to active duty. The cops are done with their investigation of the crime site here. I've already assigned 51's other shifts to nearby firehouses in a temporary double up to finish off this week's schedule without a gap in their pay checks. I'm also giving Chet, you, and your uninjured men paid leave for two weeks to start to get a grip on this whole thing. From what I've seen so far, your night has been truly nasty. ##

"Chief, we don't need a vacation. We're fine. In fact, getting right back to work might be the best therapy of all for any of us." Cap insisted.

##Not my choice, captain. This comes from the very top. I'm just following policy. It'll also keep the press from breathing down your necks until the heat of the moment passes. I want to get back to normal business as soon as possible.## McConnikee said. ##And I'm sure you do, too, so that means we both jump through all the hoops HQ feels necessary like good little firefighters.##

Hank didn't toggle the talk button for long moments as a wash of flashbacks during the fight with Ice and Stu swept over him.

##Hank. Call me anytime if you'd like to talk. I know this incident has probably reawakened some war vet memories in everybody who was over there. This may sound like department mantra, but my door's always open. Even at home.##

Hank shook himself to snap out of it.

##Hank, are you still there?##

Cap startled and suddenly remembered what he was holding. Hank found himself tearing up unexpectedly. He fought to keep it out of his voice.  
"I appreciate it, Chief. Thank you. I'll give you updates every few days to the office." Cap replied.

##I'll keep myself available, Hank. Talk to you soon.## And the handy talkie went dead.

Cap sat for a few minutes to compose himself before he switched frequencies and requested a patch from Sam to Dr. Coolidge's office to find out about Boot.

Mike Stoker and Marco Lopez found the most reassurance for their frayed nerves, by remaining in public view. Instead of hiding in the nurses' lounge like Roy and Johnny were doing, they stayed out in the waiting room, neatly stowing their turnout jackets and helmets underneath their chairs while they pretended to look through magazines.

Lopez finished chewing the last of his hamburger from its paper wrapping. "Did your vitals check out?" he said, slumping in his seat.

"Yeah, no more hypertension. They figured I was just mad." Mike answered, not seeing the fishing magazine he was holding up before his eyes, pretending idleness for the benefit of the curious, waiting kid patients who were staring at their uniforms.

"I was mad, too. But there was no point to it anymore once we got those inmates tied up." Marco agreed.

"I just kept thinking about what they were doing to Chet, even after they already hurt him. And that's what kept pissing me off." Stoker whispered. Then he took in a deep breath. "Are you going to tell your mom?"

"Nope." said Lopez immediately. "It'll kill her. For real." he insisted unhappily.

Mike was quiet for a time. Then he spoke softly.  
"I don't think I'll tell my wife, either. Whatever she sees on TV, I'll just say we were ordered into silence by the police. I'm banking on my lack of injuries to help blow it all on by."

"Good plan." Marco smiled, closing his eyes and dozing. "I think I'll copy it."

Mike shifted in his seat, thinking carefully before he spoke.  
"Want to come over for dinner tomorrow night? We'd be glad to have the two of you over. You know, just to hang out."

Lopez opened his eyes, and grinned at Mike in gentle surprise.  
"Sure." Lopez accepted. "Just expect Mama to help cook up a storm. She'll practically demand it."

Stoker finally laughed, his stress wrinkles melting into smile lines. "At seven it is. I'll have lots of beer chilling in the cooler."

In the nurse's lounge, DeSoto and Gage were sitting stiffly at the table,  
trying in vain to relax.

Roy DeSoto was nursing his fourth filled coffee cup. "Are you sure you don't want to spent the night with Joanne and the kids, and I?"

"Not this time. Sharon told me she wants to escort me home personally to take care of me." Gage answered, grinning.

"When did that happen?" Roy asked.

"While you were in the shower a few minutes ago."

"Geesh. That was fast. Definitely can't compete with that." Roy teased,  
throwing levity into his statement. "I wonder if you plied just a touch of patient power motivation there."

"I'm not taking advantage of her. She offered and... and.. I figured I was due since I was kinda a real victim here." Gage minced.

"You were most definitely one." DeSoto insisted, sipping away.

Johnny ignored the retort. "The idea of a date is really appealing right now.  
More than normal. And.. I think it'll get my mind off things."

"If you say so." Roy said, doubtfully.

"Sharon says so. And... I ...just agreed with her." Johnny minced. Then his face fell into an annoyed frown. "Look, I don't need your platitudes or approval, Roy, so don't give me any."

It was Roy's turn to take offense. "I wasn't trying to say yey or neigh one way or the other. Stop being so defensive. We're both tired, Johnny."

"Yeah? Sharon'll be good for me. I just know it. For your information, I DO feel like crap."

"I, do, too, if you must know." DeSoto insisted. "Keeping up Chet and the baby wore me plum out so stop complaining about it since I know it wore you out just as badly."

Gage opened his mouth to snap back, but caught himself when he replayed Roy's last statement back in his mind.

Finally Johnny pushed away his untouched coffee mug. "I just don't think a couple of clinging kids fit the bill right now, Roy. I don't feel like babysitting any more."

"Babysitting?!" DeSoto exploded, completely forgetting his charitable mood.

Gage held up self defensive hands.  
"All right, visiting.. Poor choice of words? Sorry. Is visiting better terminology?!"

Right then the nurses' lounge door opened and Dixie came in.

Roy and Johnny completely forgot their argument and surged forward out of their chairs.

"How is he?"  
"Is he conscious?"

Dixie just smiled and folded her arms across her chest from where she stood by the closing door. "Chet's fine. I just heard from him."

In a like move, Roy and Johnny both melted back into their chairs in utter relief.  
"Oh, well, we already knew that." said Roy.  
"We are paramedics after all." said Johnny at the same time.

Gage looked down and saw that his hands were still trembling. With a wan,  
unconvincing grin, he pulled them into his lap.

"What?" Roy asked him defensively.

Johnny shushed him with a hiss, as he eyed up McCall uncomfortably.

Dixie joined them at the table at a third seat. She daintily nibbled an untouched tray's cold french fries. "Who didn't eat here?" she said, no nonsense.

Gage immediately squirmed. "I,..uh, that was me."

"So eat." McCall glared in mock sterness. "I got a hot oven on right over there behind you." she said, pointing. "Go stick your tray in to warm it back up again."

"Uh, okay." And Johnny immediately followed instructions.

Dixie eyed up the two paramedics appraisingly. "Why are you two fighting? Both of your faces are pure red. Aww, guys... I thought the crisis debrief counselor got a good handle on things." she said with worried disappointment.

Roy and Johnny immediately denied her reading with a lot of fast talking, both at once.

"Stop." Dixie said, snapping up her head. "Do I need to call her back in here?"

That hushed both paramedics instantly.

"It was nothing serious." DeSoto finally said.

"Good. So kiss and make up or whatever you guys do when you argue with each other." McCall said. "I'm not in the mood to deal with any pettiness. My head feels like it's about to explode if I don't get some real coffee in me."

"Take mine.." both DeSoto and Gage offered, each shoving their mugs forward.

She accepted one daintily and began slurping the old stuff down until it was completely drained before taking a breath. "Now apologize."

"Sorry, Roy."  
"Sorry, Johnny." both the firefighters murmured sheepishly.

Only then did Dixie smile. She changed her tact. "Chet's asking about Boot. Wanna go tell him? Doc Coolidge says he'll be on his feet by morning."

She chuckled without turning around at the breeze their passing made as they fled the room to share the good news.

"And yes, I'll make sure your food doesn't turn into a pile of cinders." she said to the open air as she stole the last abandoned coffee mug.

Sharon Walters came through the door seconds later. "I've already packed an overnight bag, Johnny, and- where'd they go, Dixie?"

McCall grinned happily. "They're following nurse's orders by sticking together."

Photo: Cap talking on a mic at night by the engine.

Photo: Chief McConnikee on a handy talkie.

Photo: Marco smiling at Rampart.

Photo: Mike Stoker sitting in a chair, looking thoughtful.

Photo: Dixie eyeing up Roy and Johnny in the nurses' lounge.

**************************************************   
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Thu 4/26/12 1:43 AM Subject: These Are The Times That Try-

Dr. Bob Asten opened Dr. Brackett's office door and let himself inside after a short knock received an invitation to enter.

Kel Brackett and Joe Early were in the midst of reading the crisis counselor's notes.

Quincy and Lt. Frank Monahan were there, too, for other business for when the two doctors were ready to use them.

"There you are, Quincy. I've been looking all over the hospital for you." said Asten at his county employee.

"Sorry, Bob. I've been busy. These two, very kind doctors, kept drumming up business for me to do in triage." Quincy said.

Asten didn't buy it for one second. "Now that's a line of malarkey if I ever heard one. Triage's been over for hours. Quincy, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were stooping to some really transparent bald face ly-"

"I'm not lying. I'm still on the clock... as an advisor and confidant now instead of just as a forensic investigator. And for a very different kind of triage situation. Isn't that so, Dr. Brackett?"

Kel looked up from his notes, and offered Dr. Asten a polite smile.  
"All true, Doctor." Brackett agreed. "I need your man's insight into a fire house full of firefighters. You see, I'm on the paramedic advisory board and if anybody working under my license proves to be having unusual difficulty with emotions following a crisis, I have to handle it to see if they should stay on the job after a suitable rest interval, or not. And it follows if any pair of senior paramedics of mine are being rocked to the core by some catastrophe, it makes sense that any immediate coworkers who were involved in the same crisis,  
could be effected also."

"What was it that got them so riled up?" Dr. Asten asked, taken aback.

"A hostage situation that used a knife and a gun over a surviving newborn following the murder of her mother at the hands of two unstable prison inmates." Quincy replied.

"Wow." said Bob.

"You said it."  
Police Lieutenant Frank Monahan's broad forehead furrowed above his steel gray eyes. "I wasn't there. But from what my boys have been telling me after evidencing the scene, their incident didn't turn out pretty."

Dr. Early nodded. "One of the firefighters was injured in a scuffle and at one point, he was used as a torture prod to gain compliance in the others."

"How's he doing?" Quincy asked Joe.

"Chet's going to be fine. Kel and I didn't find any significant problems that a little time and rest won't cure on its own." Early answered. "Another three days should see him over the worst of it."

"Wonderful. I was worried there for a while." Quincy said, his eyes twinkling happily.

Asten was all about cooperation. "And Doctors, you paged me for..?" he prompted.

"Your feedback, ..on Counselor McPherson's notes. You do hold a degree in psychology, don't you?" asked Dr. Brackett.

"Yes, I do... Uh,...May I?" asked Bob, reaching for the notes Joe and Kel had been mulling over.

Brackett pushed them over. "I'm using your coroner here to fill in some details about how these firemen were reacting during the heat of it. He might offer some clues about how Joe and I and the rest of our staff can help these men recover some balance sooner. All of them are showing strong signs of acute post traumatic stress syndrome in some form or another."

"Okay. Sure. I'd be happy to take a look." Asten nodded, his interest piqued.

Joe Early sighed. "Good. Thanks, Dr. Asten. You see, Kel and I are very close friends with most of these firefighters. It's hard for us to be objective effectively enough to pass judgement or form any accurate opinions. That's why we called you to come back in tonight."

"I thought firefighters were supposed to be tough as nails, doctor." said Frank Monahan, scratching his thatch of neatly parted white hair in puzzlement. "If they're anything like cops.." he began.

Quincy finished Frank's thought with one of his own. "Then they never would have let the situation drag on so long. They would have snatched out their guns and took out their assailants, one by one, right between the eyes." he gestured empathetically, stabbing himself in the same place with a finger. "Just like a good little S.W.A.T. team. But there isn't a firefighter born who's made to act like a police officer. He's made to save lives. Not take them."

Frank threw up his hands. "So what makes things so different this time, Quincy?  
Can you tell me that? Firefighters see more life and death than anybody else does in a lifetime! Well, except perhaps, for you."

Quincy waved inequivocal hands. "My clients have never tried to kill me in my own personal workplace, Frank. That's the difference." he gestured with a sweep of his hand. "A place these men felt safe for years was suddenly violated. And there was no cushioning for any of the war time vets present either. They experienced murder up close and personal through the words and eyes of a killer, over and over again. No safe soldiering perspectives here. It all happened in a quiet suburb during peace time! Now add the plight of that poor little horribly orphaned newborn as a result and maybe, just maybe, you'll begin to understand what these firemen had to face in their minds and hearts. Half of these men, Frank, are parents."

Monahan closed his eyes in sympathetic horror. "I'm sorry. I... didn't really... think the whole thing through. I forgot about the vivisection.  
All I saw was a murderer and his accomplice back behind bars."

Next to the lieutenant, Dr. Asten pursed his lips as he read the reports quickly. "You're forgiven, Frank. Leave the emotional analyses to medical personnel, and we'll leave any crime busting, to you and yours."

Frank didn't take offense. He just chuckled in amusement. "So why AM I here?"

Dr. Brackett didn't even bat an eye. "We you need to find Baby Jane's natural father. The law says we can only treat life threatening conditions without parental consent. Anything else.."

"..needs permission. Yeah, I know." sighed Monahan. "All right, I'm on it. Quincy, you got the mother's name for me?"

"Cyndy Carlson. Aged 22. This baby was her first. All signs Sam and I found support that beyond any shadow of a doubt." the coroner reported. "Here's her last known address." he said, reaching into a pocket and handing out a scrap of paper torn from a copy of the woman's toe tag.

"How'd you find this out?" Frank asked.

Joe Early angled his head. "Through her dental records. Apparently,  
she was seeing a private practice right here at Rampart. Her x-ray records were on file."

"I'll get my men right on it." said Frank, exiting the office. Then he popped his head right back into it. "Uh, who do I call when we find something?"

"Me." said Dr. Brackett. "I started the baby's chart. I can relay any information to the staff in NICU as needed."

By this time, Dr. Asten had read enough from the critical incident stress management notes to offer his expertise. He sat down into a chair next to Quincy before Kel Brackett's desk and closed the folder.

"Doctor. You have something to share?" Dr. Early asked him.

"Yes. I do." said Asten reluctantly. "I'm afraid your friends aren't going to react like you would guess they normally would. Not according to McPherson's observations. She says most of them are either in complete denial of the whole thing, or they're feeling helpless for having been kept so vulnerable in the face of uncontrollable danger."

"They were very angry. I could see it." said Quincy. "But they couldn't do anything active about their helplessness, and it was driving them crazy. Especially that slender, black haired Native American-"

"Johnny Gage." Brackett supplied. "He's a good paramedic. But he can be mercurial and very defensive when it comes to personal affronts."

"Sounds like someone I know." Joe quipped, meaning Kel himself.

Brackett just angled his head in mock annoyance at Joe.

Asten nodded in ironic agreement. "A lot of men aren't good at expressing emotions, not even in normal everyday life, as we all know." Asten stated. "And I have a feeling these firefighters' true reactions to last night haven't come to a complete head yet. Could get ugly. I can see current relationships getting strained as a result."

"Or strengthened." Joe theorized. "Several from Station 51 are married and I can't believe any firefighter's wife being surprised for long after seeing a few raw consequences of her husband's job."

Dr. Brackett speculated.  
"But what about the single ones? Usually bachelors rely on their best friends for support during any rough times. You know, someone to bring along with going out to the bar, to a baseball game, or on a fishing trip. That's what I'd do."

"Umm hmm.." murmured Quincy. "Well, what does happen when your best friends are caught in the same quagmire as you? There's no one close at hand to throw a rope to haul you out of danger."

"And only another firefighter who's been under a seige like they have been would even begin to understand how they feel." Kel agreed. "So I called Battalion a few minutes ago. It turns out a fire station seige with weapons has never happened before, until now."

"So what do we do?" Joe asked all the others seriously.

"We wait and see what develops, for good or for bad. And then we... just step in to deal with things as they happen." Asten suggested. "It may help to have a lot of their female friends handy, if that's possible. For only a woman has the power to get a man's full attention."

All of the other doctors nodded their heads, considering Bob's angle.

"And I think we all know just the right kind of women needed for our three single firemen." Kel said ruefully.

As one, they whispered, "Time to get some nurses into the fray."

"So who are we going to find for Chet?" Joe wondered. "He's going to be hospitalized at least, until Tuesday."

"I think I know just the person." Brackett grinned slowly. "Her name, is a one Millicent Fishmeyer."

"Kel," Joe chided. "She's not a nurse."

"Good enough. She really wants to be one, according to Dixie."

"She's 94." Early scoffed in surprise.

"So..." Kel retorted. "A nurturing soul's a nurturing, pleasant,  
very kind..."

"...soul." Joe finished for him when Dr. Brackett's voice trailed off in a lack of confidence. "I hope she works out." he grinned.

"So do I." said Kel empathetically.

Dr. Quincy just chuckled. "And if she doesn't. I have another prospect."

"Oh, yeah?" Kel asked.

"Who?" Early echoed.

"My girlfriend. Nurse Terri Stonelake. You met her in Triage."

Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early and Dr. Asten's jaws all flopped wide open.

"What?" shrugged Quincy. "We're in an open relationship. She'd love to help him out." he said eagerly.

Photo: Dr. Asten, looking piqued, at Rampart.

Photo: Lt. Frank Monahan and Quincy, squaring off.

Photo: Joe Early and Kel Brackett in an office, worried.

Photo: Johnny Gage, looking frail, by a wall map.

Photo: Nurse Terri Stonelake, smiling in Rampart's cafeteria.

Photo: Mrs. Millicent Fishmeyer, aged 94, with a cup of tea.

************************************************** *  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Mon 5/28/12 9:55 AM Subject: Reverberations...

It was an hour later, at Rampart.

The 51 gang had regathered into a family meeting room on Chet's patient floor that had been set aside especially for them.

Lt. Monahan entered the room just as the fire department crisis counselor left around him, shutting the door. He said six words. "We're through with you. Go home."

"Finally." Marco said sarcastically, rising from his chair. "It's about time. Cap, I'm going to go look in on Chet one last time to see if he needs anything before we leave to go get our cars."

Stanley smiled automatically, still gripping his helmet and folded turnout coat protectively in his arms. He merely nodded as one by one, his men left to sign the obligatory exam's discharge papers at Dixie's desk.

The captain sighed. His legs were tired. For hours, he had not taken a seat like the others had done, not even to eat, preferring to pace while answering all presented police and crisis counselor questions alike. He was still thinking carefully. "So where do we park her when we get back?" he asked the white haired policeman.

"The engine?" Frank asked. "Along the station's side drive alleyway flanking your bunk room. There's no evidence to disturb there. The squad's already been moved." he said, scribbling notes into the margins of his slateboard.

"Uh, can I go now?" Hank wondered, his face blank and numb on the inside.

"Oh, sorry. Yes, captain. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough a minute ago. We really do appreciate all of the early testimonies that you and your men have given to us in this pre-hearing. It'll save taxpayers the misery of another trial for these two scumbags." the grizzled lieutenant grinned in his gray business suit. "I thank you personally for that."

Stanley didn't even nod. All he could do was grab for the door knob that led to the bright freedom of the hallway.

He felt a light touch on his arm that made him flinch. It was Monahan.  
"Capt- oh. Didn't mean to startle you like that. I had a few of my men move your personal vehicles from the back yard over to the arco refinery's parking lot across the street, They're under guard against left over riot vandals. All of your keys are still in their ignitions."

"Appreciate it." And then Stanley was gone.

In the back of the room, Quincy was silent and very thoughtful. "We pushed them too hard, too early, Frank. That wasn't good."

"Who asked you?" Frank said. "You're in enough hot water as it is for risking your skin back at their fire station."

"I didn't know it was a hostage situation. I was looking for a baby!" Quincy said passionately from the chair he slumped in.

"And we were busy trying to save a whole city from an angry prison mob!  
So who was the one who was really overwhelmed here?" he snarled back.

Both men instantly retracted their sentiments, recognizing fatigue and long hours as the true barb. They eyed each other up apologetically. "Whoa.  
Bad night for both of us." muttered Frank.

"Hmm, mine by choice." joked Quincy sympathetically.

Quincy rose to his feet to gather the hospital autopsy papers that Monahan and Dr. Asten had used to track him down during the height of the riot.

Lt. Monahan helped him. "So how is the baby doing?"

"She'll be fine. Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early both say she'll be eating orally by morning. And there's no sign of any physical trauma past what she received from her decomposing umbilical cord."

"I'll just bet her emotional state is a different story." Frank sympathized.

Quincy grinned bravely. "She's very young. She won't remember missing her mother for years. But I hope someone remembers the firefighters who saved her life."

"And one particular coroner."

"I didn't do anything." he said, picking at the clothes he wore that Station 51 had loaned to him.

"Bullsh*t."

"Let's go to Danny's and I'll buy you a drink. Dr. Asten's already there.  
Best plan I've had all day..." Quincy said. "And I mean it this time."

"You're on. And I'm sure Sam, your foolishly devoted assistant, will finally agree with you."

Chet opened his eyes wearily when he felt a light, but warm grip take his fingers. He blinked in confusion when he saw that the one sitting by his head wasn't still Dixie. It was Mrs. Millicent Fishmeyer, Dixie's ancient, but spiritually bubbly neighbor. "How did you get in here? You're holding my hand." he said without energy.

Millicent simply beamed. The wrinkles in her petite but cheerful face,  
grinned along with her. "You were holding my hand not too long ago.  
I thought I'd return the favor. And before you start thinking about hitting that nurse button, I'm your nurse. Er,... well, truth be told?  
I'm their newest candy striper..." she amended. "Of sorts." she said waggling a gnarled set of age spotted fingers.

"I don't see any candy here." Kelly grumbled, eyeing up her blue smock and white uniform.

"I haven't been eye candy for seventy years, mister."

Chet was good enough to blush. "I didn't mean that.. I meant.."

"The kind you can digest, I know." she teased back. "Sweets made of sugar." Mrs. Fishmeyer simply patted the back of his hand gently and began guffawing loudly. "Seriously? Candy? On the post I.C.U. floor? Don't make me laugh."

"You already are.." Kelly murmured, wincing at the volume of her husky sounding mirth. His eyes eventually glanced down at her mindless ministrations. "Uh,, this is awkward." he muttered.

"What is?" Millie wondered. Then it dawned. "Oh. My touching you."  
she withdrew her contact without any shred of self consciousness.  
"Sorry, Chester. I'm under orders to take your pulse every half hour."

"It's, Chet, ma'am. And the machines can do that." he said, tossing a head at the EKG monitor still tracing activity near his pillow.

"They can't judge the quality of it, now can they?" Mrs. Fishmeyer told him no nonsense. "Whether it's weak, or strong,... or mad." she said,  
finally frowning. The sudden expression change didn't paint her well.

Chet sighed around his nasal cannula. "I'm not mad. I'm just a little surprised that you're here, that's all. I mean, considering that last month we were all doing CPR on you in your rose garden."

"Petunia bed, dear." Millie grinned.

"Whatever. Look, Mrs. Fishmeyer. I know you probably mean well, even though you're officially authorized.. But why.." Chet finally tamped down politely on his irritation,"..on earth, are you here at MY bedside when there's a whole hospital of patients to pick and choose from all around you?"

"I told you. I've been specifically assigned to you to bolster your recovery until your family gets here. By Dr. Brackett."

Chet eyed her up thoughtfully with a little defensiveness. "But nobody,  
past the gang at the station, knows I'm even here."

"Your sister does..." Millie said in a little singsong.

Kelly threw up what hands he could that weren't hampered by an I.V.  
line. "Ohhh.. no. Not her. She's gonna fuss and raise a big stink about me being laid up, all for nothing." he whined. "And I'm not even really that hurt this time. Gage and DeSoto told me so."

"So she's coming. So what? Who else are they gonna call? She's your emergency contact number with the fire department." Millie said seriously in her deep smoker's voice. Mrs. Fishmeyer leaned forward in confidence.  
"Would you rather I call in your steady girlfriend?"

"What?! How'd you find out about her?" Chet said, nearly levitating off the bed.

"Dixie told me to keep me from developing a crush on the man who kept me breathing during my cardiac arrest nightmare, okay?" she replied defensively.

That shut Chet up. He sputtered. "You.. have a crush... on me? You're old enough to be my great great-"

"Oh, shut up." Millie cackled. "I'm old but I'm not stupid. No, I don't have a crush on you. Dixie set me straight on that a few days ago about telling me about your serious girlfriend."

"I don't have one. She lied. And I just lied, too."

Millie went on, not hearing him. "A month ago, that was just some artificial hero worship on the first rescuer I happened to notice going lip to lip with me when I was still really really scared inside."

"That was mouth to mouth, how did you know some of us even did that? You were unconscious." Chet insisted.

"Hellooo!" Millie crowed. "Floating body over the scene thing, seeing everything?  
Surely you've heard of victims telling you all about that later on during station visits to say thanks."

"Ah, no." Chet said firmly.

"Really?" Millie pegged him, squinting like a pirate. Then her face grew contemplative. "Huh. Roy and Johnny must be very lax with you fellas about sharing all their life after death stories they hear from patients in the ambulance going into Rampart. I sure told them a doozy then."

Kelly's eyebrows furrowed and he finally relaxed. "So, how are you doing?"

"Fine, or I wouldn't be volunteering like this today." Millie shot back. Then she winked. "I should be asking you the same question, Chester."

Kelly sighed and lung coughed only once. He was very surprised that all of that ugly pain, was gone. He took back her hand. "Please, call me Chet, Millie.  
Not Chester. Only my sister insists on doing that and it drives me up a tree."

Millie looked at her watch. "Well, she won't get to do that for another four hours yet. Heh. Her plane doesn't land until midnight. So watcha wanna do until then?  
Play a little parcheesi, checkers? I brought both.. " she dangled.

Kelly's mouth flopped open, but then he began to smile softly at Fishmeyer's gangbuster's enthusiasm. "Checkers, ma'am. My brain can't handle anything complex right now. I'm still higher than a kite on all the drugs they've given me."

"That makes two of us. So am I. Ninety four doesn't work without a few helper pills every now and then. Checkers, it is, Chet. I'm black. You're red. And I'm gonna kick yer butt in about six moves."

Kelly settled back on his pillows and let his caretaker set up the playing board on his bedside tray with a good heart. "I wouldn't have it any other way." he muttered. "You're honest to goodness, Dixie-trained to the core."

He let her prattle on excitedly about life after death and everything and kept on smiling in genuine affection.

Under the three palm trees, every window of the DeSoto house was dark.

Roy DeSoto turned the key in his front door of his small white stucco split level entry rambler and slipped inside so he wouldn't disturb the kids.

An Irish Setter greeted him at the door, first barking and then whining instantly when he smelled the invisible but still leftover blood traces on his street clothing.

Roy knelt down to comfort him. "Shh,,, quiet Ralphie, you'll wake up Joanne and the kids." he hissed, shoving the dog over from the marble tiles to the wool Persian rug to silence his eager claw sounds as he reared repeatedly in frantic relief.

"Your wife's not sleeping." came a voice that hurried into his arms through the warm darkness.

Roy embraced Joanne's small form gracefully, kissing the top of her short bobbed red hair. "New coolot?" he said of her long, flowing white and black paisley dress.

"Yes. I bought it today to get my mind off things."  
She kissed him afterwards, then she switched on the hall light inset into the gold foiled wallpaper. "New bruises?" she countered, eyeing him up professionally.

Roy kept the smile on his face. "Yeah, a few. We had to tackle those two into submission."

She carefully traced the tender, swollen areas of his face lovingly. "I saw the news. Anybody get shot?"

"Just Boot. He's gonna be fine." said the war vet in Roy. "Is the house still locked up tight?"

"Yes. And your gun locker's not. All set for you." she said no nonsense,  
letting him go so she could go to the dusty brandy decanter in the elegant living room to pour him a rare drink.

Roy let her. The relieved smile on his face faded into a faint pain. "I'm not going to have any nightmares tonight."

"I won't let you." she said, returning, and handing him his snifter of Cognac as she kissed him. "The kids are fine. They're sleeping. I didn't let them watch TV all day."

Roy set down the drink to hold his wife. "The riot's over. Chet's gonna be fine, too." he volunteered, not knowing the extent of the news coverage that was aired.

"Chet?" Joanne muttered in concern.

"He was pushed around a little and got lung bruised. It was nothing that Johnny and I couldn't handle."

"And how about those two thugs with the gun?" Joanne asked sagely, very near her husband's lips with her own.

Roy didn't say anything, because he could no longer talk. He just began loving her with all his heart through his hands and body.

It was dawn and Gage awoke suddenly from a cold sweat. Then his nose caught a delicate bouquet of femaleness and he suddenly remembered.

Sharon Walters was stretched out beside him, in bed, sans clothes.

He smiled as she awoke as well. "You broke my unlucky streak last night, you know."  
he shared.

"I know." Sharon said, rolling over so she could snuggle with him, chin on his bare shoulder. "That was the plan. I've had my eye on you for quite a long time, Johnny."

"For real?" he asked, turning all teenager inside.

"For years." she said, biting him lightly on his nose. "I was just waiting for you to ask me out but was too old fashioned to do it myself." she said, coyly wrapping a yellow sheet around her bare body.

"Sharon.." said Gage. "You're probably the most modern woman I know. Well, past Dixie perhaps." he said, holding her in his arms.

"Or Joanne DeSoto." Walters amended, tracing a finger around a deep bruise that she had found on his arm.

Johnny pulled his injury away, remember how strong Ice had been during the fight to subdue him at the station. "Yeah, her too." he admitted, trying to concentrate on the normal conversation that she was trying to have.

Sharon noticed the leftover clamminess of his skin. "Still cold?" she asked, still part nurse.

"Not physically." he told her with a kiss. "Not any more."

"Well, how about emotionally?" Sharon asked, laying herself on top of him, chest to chest under the sheets.

Johnny went silent and still, despite the temptation to frolic physically. He didn't tell her about the bad dream that had awakened him from his deep, post love-making slumber. "Let's just go back to sleep, Sharon. Okay? I'm still really bushed."

"Okay." she replied, staring into his eyes in worry. Then she laid her head back onto his shoulder carefully. Walters fell asleep in an instant.

But Johnny lay staring at the ceiling of his ranch house's rustic pinewood cabin themed bedroom for a long time afterwards, reliving the hostage hours, over and over again.

Photo: Chet looking surprised, bandaged wrapped in bed.

Photo: An old woman in a white sweater and blue shirt.

Photo: Joanne DeSoto looking happy.

Photo: Roy smiling, in street clothes, in a den.

Photo: An Irish Setter being petted.

Photo: Johnny Gage, shirtless, at a desk with a paramour in bed behind him.

Photo: Sharon Walters in nursing whites.

From:patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Fri 6/29/12 3:20 AM Subject: Oscillations..

Dr. Morton was finishing up his triage charts. Of all the staff piled in shoulder to shoulder at the same cramped E.R. desk to get all of their paperwork done, Mike was the most bright eyed and bushy tailed. He was so energized, he actually began to whistle a passionate slow blues tune.

"Oh, that's vile." Nurse Carol groaned next to him as she tried to focus on organizing her own pharmaceutical inventory forms.

Morton instantly looked up from his rapid check-listing. "What is? Me?" he asked, self consciously sniffing an underarm beneath his spotless scrubs. "Nurse Evans, I showered twenty minutes ago."

The fifty something, brunette assistant head nurse angled her fatigue aching head carefully and just sighed. "It's not a smell thing. It's your effervescent cheeriness, Dr. Groove." she grumbled as his song resumed through his pursed lips like a broken garden hose.

Dr. Morton took that as a compliment and began grinning from ear to ear. He paused all the music, to sip from his entirely coffeeless water cup. "Thank you. I can't help but feel good today. Triage went very well last night, all things considering." he said, referring to the riot victims they had processed en masse.

"Only thing worse is all of the birdsong going on full blast outside the window." Evans winced as his airy rendition of It's A Wonderful World started up again.

Mike broke off, smiling widely.  
"That's because you didn't get any sleep on your breaks like I told you to." Morton grinned. "It's not like we didn't have every available medically trained person in Los Angeles County here for the crisis. Quite the contrary. Even people from the morgue chipped in on all the life saving. You worked straight through solely because you wanted to out of the goodness of your heart." he mocked with amusement,  
bowing his neatly afro crowned head genteelly, flashing his white teeth.

"Oh, there he goes again with all the saccharine." Carol moaned, trying to tune him out by shading her eyes with a spare folder. "A Morton reaction totally uncharacteristic of the man himself. It's an historic landmark! Total catastrophe has turned our surly resident into a saint, folks! Enjoy it while it lasts." she announced to everyone at large as she moving away from the young doctor and his music for a little peace and quiet.

A spate of laughter followed her as she departed for the solitude of the quiescent glass enclosed base station.

Nearby, Joe Early leaned into Dixie's ear. "What was the magic formula that cured our local Mr. Hyde?"

McCall jabbed him in the ribs with a not so discreet elbow. "Shhh."

"Ow!" Early protested. "I'm just asking. No need to give me a flail chest about it."

Dixie finally cracked a tiny smirk. "Mike was called in off his sailboat, remember?  
Unlike any of us, he had a chance to completely finish a scheduled weekend off of rest and relaxation." she clarified, drinking a large swallow of coffee from a wisely chewed on and lip stick smeared styrofoam cup.

"Oh." Joe said, his voice modulating into mildly stone faced jealousy. "That explains his about face personality." He glanced up as Kel Brackett waved and walked on by them. The head of the E.R. picked up where Mike Morton's whistling concerto had left off. "What about Kel's oddball cat-that-ate-the-canary grin?"

Dixie began to cough suddenly as she choked on her coffee. Her face began to turn very red as she didn't answer the question.

Carol waved off Joe's suprised medical concern for Dixie. "She's fine. Or she will be once she gets over it." she quipped dryly. "Your best bud's magic pill, doctor, was a little love birds' closet time with a very special someone." said Evans saucily, directing a few not so discreet fingers in McCall's direction. "I overheard that activity, too, a half an hour ago."

"Carol!" Dixie admonished in ultimate betrayal. She did not check her full force patient chart arm smack directed at Evans.

Carol didn't even blink, remaining as unflappable as ever. "What? A doctor asked a question and I answered him, like a good little nurse...Miss Bad Nurse." she winked. And then Evan's first and only on-shift smile began to blossom like the rising sun.

On the ground floor of Rampart, the county coroner and his assistant cleaned up.

Quincy quickly washed his hands and fingernails once more in the bathroom sink using a heavy brush. "I'm telling you, Sam. People always act strangely when they're under excessive stress. I'm seeing signs of it everywhere." he said, eyeing up his Asian assistant. "And those firemen won't be an exception."

Fujiyama was nonplussed. "Why are we worrying about them? It isn't our job."  
he said, flossing his teeth carefully in the mirror deftly to rid himself of invisible plaque.

Quincy glanced in his direction curiously. "There's nothing there, Sam. Give it up."

"What? My mouth. Or your subconscious misguided mother henning?"

"Both!" the coroner spat emphatically, offended. "Look, my evaluating Station 51's crew for post traumatic stress disorder's over. Yeah, I was shanghai'd into it, but now it's done. We can just file it all away, forget about it, and go home." he said, drying his hands meticulously on a nearby surgical cloth snatched from a stack. "We're off the time clock."

"I don't believe that for one minute, Quince. You never forget. Especially something like this. You're an absolute bulldog when it comes to problem solving." replied Sam,  
his high elegant cheek bones, glistening with left over soap. "And these firefighters are far from being free of their immediate problem, enough so that it's really bothering you. I can tell."

Quincy fell silent then and perched thoughtfully for a long while on the sink's edge with a hip. "Oh, I know. I'm sorry, Sam, but I have to get further involved. None of these boys deserve what's coming up next inside their heads. And you and I know that far better than anyone else. Don't you see? We know about death. Very intimately." he said sadly. "And their knowing about how that girl baby's mother met her end is going to tear them apart. Remembering that hostage situation is only going to make things even worse."

"Should we talk to Boss again about them?"

"No, Sam. Dr. Asten would just order us away. We'll try to do something as the new friends to Station 51 that we've now definitely become. Entirely off the record." And with that, the gray haired coroner energetically abandoned his towel into the sink and made a vigorous beeline for the door. "If they won't listen to the CISM counselor,  
perhaps they'll listen to me."

Sam hastened to catch up, quickly tidying up the mess he and Quincy left behind into a proper biohazard garbage and disposal hamper. "Where are we going?"

"To catch up with my girlfriend, Terri Stonelake. She of everyone we've met here at the hospital is the one most likely to sympathize enough with us to cough up some contact information on our firehouse gang so we can continue to help them out." said Quincy brusquely as he walked swiftly for the emergency department. "I want to go on a few personal house calls."

"You hope."

"She'll do it. She loves me." Quincy said, quirking a lip matter of factly.

"Enough to break employee information sharing policy restrictions?"

"Those firefighters aren't Terri's coworkers, Sam. They're casual acquaintances. And besides, I can't see them being subject to patient confidentiality nor any official legal privacy laws, technically. None of them have been scheduled to see an official psychiatrist."

"Yet."

"Sam, every one of them is probably easily found in the White Pages. All we're going to do is get some last names to go along with the first names I already know." he said enthusiastically. "Then our fingers can do some walking in the phone book on their own, far away from even the tiniest bit of official red tape."

Sam grumbled, keeping up behind him. "And our noses will still be sticking in business where they don't belong."

Quincy became a little crestfallen and his voice showed it even as he hastened to get where he was going. "Oh, ye of little faith. I want to prevent a death of the spirit in all of them like I can't officially prevent a death of someone's physical body in my job. It'll be fine, Sam. You'll see. Firemen may be the toughest fighters in a fire, but total pussycats when it comes to handling the public. This I know. And you can't get anymore public than the two of us can when we're off duty."

"I'm not going to argue with you."

"Why not? I love our sniping. Keep it up, Sam." Quince grinned back at him. "You're good friction and I like using you to keep me sane."

"Insane, more like." Fujiyama said out of his ear shot as they finally reached the nurse's lounge. Taking a deep breath for courage, Sam finally caught the door and followed Quincy inside.

Photo: Joe and Dixie on a desk, butt perched.

Photo: Kel and Morton looking at x-rays.

Photo: Close up of Nurse Carol Evans.

Photo: Sam Fujiyama and Quincy in scrubs in a tiled exam room.

Photo: Nurse Terri Stonelake, smiling medium shot.

Photo: Rampart's back lot with cars and staff.

************************************************** *  
From:patti keiper (pattik1 )  
Subject: Holing Up.. Sent:Fri 6/29/12 11:48 PM

It was eight a.m. and the day after the hostage crisis.

Lightning was just beginning in earnest from an incoming line of thunderstorms when the rain came down in sheets.

Dixie McCall pulled her car up into a slot nearest the main entrance of Carter Street Animal Shelter. She got out, clutching a carrier full of steaming coffee cups from the Dunkin Donuts down the street in one hand and her purse in the other. She hastened for the animal clinic's closest door to keep the rain from entirely wrecking her hairdo.

A sharp breeze still carried the smell of fire smoke left over from riot damage but that was the only sign that anything was still out of the ordinary. She pushed through the vet office's narrow glass entryway and a merry bell spring toggled musically as she passed through into the much larger white and amber waiting room.

Patty, the receptionist at the front desk, looked up from her filing. "Can I help you?" she asked brightly over the sound of the pounding rain on their sun roof.

Dixie pulled off her head scarf.  
"You sure can, Patty. Remember me? I was the one who smuggled a pygmy goat into Rampart Hospital for some surgery about three years ago." Dixie said, setting her beverages on the counter and peeling out of her raincoat.

Patty's face fell from professionalism into one of deep affection and admiration.  
"I thought your voice sounded familiar. Yes, of course I remember you, Miss McCall. Every time we see a goat come in we think of you and how you saved that little girl's pet by being so stubborn in the face of your hospital's standing animal policy."

"I hope that's a good thing." smiled Dixie.

"Oh, it is. Doc Coolidge can't stop talking about the day he talked a human doctor through goat open heart surgery.." she chuckled. Then she noticed that Dixie was alone. "What can I do for you? Do you have a sick pet at home?" she asked, noticing the dark circles under the off duty nurse's eyes. "We can do house calls."

Dixie shook her head. "I was told by the police station that this is where Fire Station 51's dog, a...scruffy brown mutt about knee high named Boot, was transported after he got shot yesterday.." Dixie shared.

"This is the place. Boot's doing just fine. The bullet just creased him. But I don't understand why you're here. I thought someone from the fire station was going to pick him up today." Patty told her in confusion.

McCall angled her head. "They can't right now. There's nowhere for him to go home to just yet. The police are through with their investigation, but repair and clean up crews are working day and night to get Station 51 back up and running. The whole place is still a real mess."

"I don't understand what happened there." Patty said. "No one told me the circumstances behind how Boot got himself hurt, Dixie. I mean,.. I know about the jail break riots and all. But about anything else, I'm totally clueless."

"Patty, Station 51's crew had their lives threatened at gunpoint by a pair of murderers.  
All day. These men shot Boot, hurt a firefighter while breaking in, and then used a newborn baby as leverage to get the gang to do whatever they wanted them to do."

"Oh, that's awful, Dixie. I mean, I saw the newscasters, but they didn't really know that many details."

"It was bad. So I told my fellas to stay home to heal as long as it takes. I said I'd watch Boot until they felt ready to take him back. I'm also paying his entire vet bill. Shhhh." Dixie shared, asking Patty to keep a secret. "I know how slow the fire department is for compensating community resources."

"That's really sweet of you to foster Boot until they recover."

"It's the least I can do. They brought me in patients, didn't they? So I can babysit a stray dog for a while. It's a fair trade to me. I'm just being a good neighbor. Just don't tell my landlady." McCall grinned. "So...how much do I owe you?"

Patty pulled out a tally sheet and showed her. "Let's see... One code three ambulance ride,  
one basic wound care kit with sutures, a renewed rabies shot.. and ten days worth of oral antibiotics. That'll be seventy eight dollars, thirty cents."

"Ouch, there goes the paycheck." Dixie teased, digging out her checkbook.

"Oh, I'm so sorry..." Patty looked dismayed as only a very young receptionist could.

"I'm kidding. I know Doc Coolidge's rates are the lowest in town." McCall bailed her out. "I actually do okay as head E.R. nurse. I can afford this easily." she smiled. "I saved a bit for a rainy day."

A loud crackle of thunder made both women duck involuntarily and the rain began to fall in a torrential flood even heavier than before.

"Hmmm,... it's a very loud, very wet one." Patty laughed.

"Now you know why I brought us all some coffee. I knew I'd be stuck here a while until this front passes by. Doc likes his black, if I recall." McCall said, sliding the fast food beverage tray forward. "Help yourself."

"Thank you, Dixie. He'll be out in a moment to speak with you about Boot's injury and how to care for it. Though I think, with you being a nurse and all, that it would be a bit of an overkill." Patty chuckled.

"Oh, let him rant. Doctors do that. I'll just keep nodding and pretend I'm soaking it all in."

A new voice cut through the bright gray of the morning. It was the heavy joweled local vet, Doc Coolidge. "Soaking in what? The rain? You don't have to, Miss. We've got a state of the art grooming room in back if you need to dry off. A horse dryer ought to do it."

Dixie barely hid a highly amused smile. She managed to pull herself together before addressing her benefactor. "I'm... very comfortable, doctor. I managed to get in before I got wet. I brought you some caffeine." Dixie dangled.

"Did Brackett put you up to it to keep extending the olive branch between us?" Coolidge smirked merrily as he reached for his and offered Dixie hers.

"Probably." Dixie answered sagely, taking the cup. "I encourage him, too, in case the fire department ever has to bring in another four legged patient having a heart attack to the hospital."

"That will no longer be necessary. That goat incident is why I bought Les and Dave that ambulance of theirs you saw parked out front. Now we vet people, can go to our patients. Speaking of which. I have one who's no longer one of mine." And with that, the stocky vet opened a side door and Boot, wrapped in bandage, came rushing in to greet Dixie with whines and rolls and tail wags of happiness.

"Oh, Boot!" Dixie crowed, crouching down to her knees so she could give him a smooch and a hug right on top of his frizzy muzzle. "I'm so glad you're all right, you big baby. The guys are all okay, sweets. Can you smell them on me?" she asked as her face was liberally smothered in dog kisses.

Boot dutifully checked her out and soon settled contentedly down at Dixie's feet as she tumbled into a place on the orange vinyl waiting room couch nearby. McCall turned into a total kid for long seconds as dog and nurse rebonded.

Then McCall looked up, speaking professionally. "Is he medicated?"

Coolidge harrumphed around his unlit tobacco pipe.  
"Nah, he needed just a local for five stitches to seal off one small artery. His faint of relief was enough to keep him calm on the way in." Coolidge beamed as he, too, began to scratch Boot affectionately. Then he looked up. "I've got the radar on, looks like the weather's going to get a little worse before it dies down come evening time. Dixie, I'd be grateful if you decided to stay and have lunch with us in a few hours. If you do, Patty would worry less about your safety going back down that canyon road." Doc suggested. "Mud slides are common when it rains this hard."

Behind his back, Patty grinned in amusement and pointed empathetically at the real worry wart in the room wearing the white lab coat and spectacles.

Dixie giggled. "You twisted my arm. I guess I'll just have to consider myself well invited then, Doctor." she told him. "Thanks for your hospitality. I'll have to give Kel a ring and tell him he's on his own for dinner this afternoon though."

"Heh. Feel free to use our phone. We've got TV in back and a whole slew of dog toys if you two want to play some while you relax some and wait for the weather to clear." Coolidge shared.

Woof! said Boot. And he shot to his feet, dragging Dixie eagerly into the back treatment area by her neck scarf.

Doc boomed suddenly, even louder than all the ensuing thunder.  
"Boot! Go easy, boy! You don't want to rip out those stitches now or I'll have to put them in all over again and cause this nice young lady to suffer another vet bill. You wouldn't want that to happen, would ya?" Coolidge challenged as he followed them into the hallway.

Boot instantly let go of his human toy's clothing and politely began to lead the way like the really good fire department search dog he was.

Patty shut the reception door neatly behind them. "Have fun, you three!"

"Well, so much for the big BBQ later on. Even the yucca out there is drowning." sighed Stoker as he, Marco and his mother In z Lopez peered sadly out Mike's front window at the sodden tempest raging outside.

"Es bien, Miguel." said Mrs. Lopez. "Ning n sol, ning n dolor en los ojos."

Mike chuckled. "Yeah. Don't worry. I left my sunglasses on the dresser this morning."

"His name is Mike, mom. Not Miguel. El es Americano." Marco yelled over a thunder clap as he and his station mate tied on aprons to start making some fresh tortillas from scratch. Por favor!" he begged. "Sorry, Mike. She's a little off today because she's hungry. She hasn't eaten in two days because she was too scared to during all the rioting."

In z, the subject of their conversation, was mortified at her naming mistake.  
"Oh, lo ciento. Apprendo malo, soy senora viejo." In z blushed from head to toe for her host while the engineer set the breakfast table. The three of them had been up since the crack of dawn, creating a culinary delight. Mike's whole rustic stone, golf course facing house, smelled of spicy huevos rancheros.

"Mama, you are not old!" Marco scolded. "And you do not learn new things poorly.  
You've nothing to apologize for. You're still sharper than a tack."

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Will she try a little orange juice?"

"Yeah, I think so. Just put it in a clear glass so she can see what it is before she puts it into that mouth of hers." Marco grumbled, embarrassed.

"Diabetes is nothing to shake a stick at, pal." Stoker told him. "Are you sure your mother is only borderline? We could call in for a squad."

"Nope. One's not needed. Borderline senile from lack of food is all." Lopez quipped in amusement. "Her eyes are still tracking."

" Marco! O sus palabras!" In z shot back, her polite meek smile turning into a very powerful scowl.

"Uh, oh. Now I'm in trouble. She heard and understood that english." Marco said, rolling his eyes.

For the next three minutes, the only Lopez son in the room, a grown firefighter, bore his well deserved dressing down like a tiny, very cowed, young boy. He took it, dutifully cringing at every passionate outburst of her disciplinary ire.

Mike soon came to the rescue with a tall sweaty glass of juice. "Hey, In z, want some of this?"

The glass was snatched out of Stoker's hands so fast, his fingers smarted.

In z gulped down the offering in long, deep swallows swiftly. When she was done, she let loose a loud belch of gratitude. "Gracias, Mike. I was very thirsty. But, I cannot yell at my hideously disrespectful son all day. It's bad for my heart."

"Ah, good. Your blood sugar's normal again." Mike sighed in relief.

Marco uncurled from where he stood. "Feeling better, mama?"

"Oh, yes. Let's get cooking, querido." In z purred sweetly, instantly turning to the stove and counter top once more. Soon, chopped peppers and chiles were flying into her highly polished copper egg pan at breakneck speed.

Mike's grin grew hopeful. "Wow, she's fast. When do we eat?"

"In about two minutes." Marco said in huge dismay. "There's no way we'll fry up our tortilla dough in time. We're just going to have to let her do it all by herself." Marco said, in active disappointment.

"Well, you did warn me that your mother was quite the lean, mean, cooking machine."  
Stoker shrugged.

In z laughed openly at Mike's compliment. "That I am. Now sit, and I will feed you well."

Photo: Rainy road outside of a stone house and rose garden.

Photo: Carter Street Animal Shelter in los Angeles County.

Photo: Vet Doc Coolidge smiling in amusement.

Photo: Vet's office secretary Patty by a cat breed poster.

Photo: Dixie in a sweater and scarf leaning down to floor level.

Photo: Boot close up near food bowl.

Photo: Marco's mother near a stack of tortillas.

Photo: Spanish eggs on a plate.

Photo: Mike and Marco sitting at a dining table in amusement.

************************************************** * From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Sat 8/11/12 12:19 AM Subject: Noble Intentions...

Nurse Terri Stonelake set herself to finish shooing Millicent Fishmeyer out of Chet Kelly's hospital room. "It was best three out of five, Millie. That's good enough. You're the champ, and Chet's finally relaxed enough to sleep. Can't you see that his eyes are closed? You can come back tomorrow afternoon to visit on your next candy striper shift."

"But he asked me to keep playing with him." Millie frowned, mildly resisting Terri's herding hold on her shoulders. "We're making good progress sharing all of his recent troubles." said Mrs. Fishmeyer proudly, still grasping a stack of won black checkers coins possessively in her gnarled and freckled hands from where she sat on her stool.

"Not with just one person doing all the talking and the second all the snoring.  
Let's face it. Anything more said right now is just unwelcome noise during someone else's badly needed nap." said Stonelake kindly. "Our patient needs rest, Millie. By himself. In peace."

"But..."

"He's fine. Does he still look stressed out to you?" Terri asked her, pointing out Chet's unlined baby-like sleeping expression.

"Well, no. Not right now." said Millie, frowning a bit. "But I know he will again.  
A- And.. Oh, Terri. I just want to be there when he really needs somebody!"  
Millie insisted, worried for Chet.

Terri put a finger to her lips to shush Millie's emotion.  
"Ssshhhh. We'll both be here because it's our job to care for him. He's doing fine for tonight. Go get yourself a soup and sandwich or something solid. I can see you're so hungry you're transparent." Stonelake said firmly.

"B-" Millie sputtered.

Terri set her hands on her hips. "Do I have to tell Dixie that you skipped taking a break on your very first volunteer day?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

Millie stood there, suddenly stunned, and looking horrified at the threat.

"Please, go..." Terri said, giving her one last soft push against the shoulders near the door.

"All right. You're the boss." Mrs. Fishmeyer whispered and left quietly. The door gently shut between them.

Terri sighed, turned around, and then tip toed back over to her tired patient's bed so she could take another hourly vitals set on him for his chart.

She was pumping up the blood pressure cuff on his left arm when Kelly cracked open one eye. "Is she gone?"

Terri noticed. "Yep. You're a good faker. Now hold still for half a minute while I get this." she chided, cocking her head around her stethoscope's ear pieces.

Kelly took in a deep, full cleansing breath and stretched what limbs not pinned by her hands that he could. Then he took a fleeting guess at her future reading. "It's gonna be... 134 over 90." he said, pulling off his oxygen mask until it parked on top of his curly head like a jaunty cap.

Terri's poker face was knocked into amazement when those numbers slowly materialized in her ears. "How did y-?"

Chet bailed her out by pointing to the EKG monitor tracing a rhythm next to his bed.  
"I've got a central line in and it's on auto detect." he said, pointing to the tiny numbers displaying his pressure underneath the cardiac readout. "They did that thinking they were going to have to crack my chest open and reinflate a lung or two until the X-rays came back all normal to prove them wrong about the big surgery plans." Then Kelly eyed up the chart still hanging on the wall. "You didn't know about my CVC?"

Terri pulled off her stethoscope in self conscious surrender and slumped back into the recliner next to Chet's bed. "I didn't read your chart, Mr. Kelly. This isn't even my scheduled patient floor. I came up here because Dixie asked me to spring Millie so you could finally get some peace and quiet for the rest of the night." she grinned, leaning on her ample chin without apology.

"So the busy-as-snot head E.R. nurse actually cares about me. How cool is that?" Chet smiled, leaning a little farther back onto his pillows. "Just...don't tell her I said so. I've had a secret crush on her for years."

"Isn't Miss McCall almost old enough to be your mother?" Terri gaped.

"Well, yeah.. but I like older women. I always have." Kelly squirmed.

Stonelake cocked her head the other way. "So why haven't you ask her out?"

Chet's mouth flopped open, totally incredulous.  
"Because she's dating Dr. Brackett, ma'am. And quite frankly, I don't want to piss off the head doc I'm probably going to see the next time Johnny and Roy haul my fire or accident winged *ss into Rampart from a rescue scene."

"Chicken." Terri teased.

"Wh- Excuse me, nurse?" Kelly snorted, surprised at the taunt, suddenly smiling shyly.

"Dixie's very open minded that way I'll have you know. Just whom do you think she learned it from?" And then Terri Stonelake winked.

Totally taken by surprise, Chet slumped down into his sheets and quickly slid back into the false shelter of his partially face concealing oxygen mask. Only his eyes shared the answer he already knew right down to his very bones.

Terri just blinked, still very classy in her initial flirtation.  
"She won't bite." Stonelake emphasized calmly. The middle aged nurse leaned forward and rested both of her happy dimples on top of his bed railing. "Neither will I, Mr. Fireman. So take your pick of one of the two because the hunt is most definitely on."

Quincy found his girlfriend in the hallway just as she was leaving Chet Kelly's room. He snuck up on her and snatched her up into a bearhug from behind as he kissed the top of her head affectionately. "So how's he doing now?" asked the coroner.

"He's pink and rosy and definitely not thinking about the leftover pain in his chest anymore." Terri Stonelake giggled, turning around to plant a mild peck onto his lips.

"Oooo, so you had to use flirt on full." he smiled.

"Something like that. For a bachelor, he's as stubborn as they come. But at least,  
I gave him something harmless to focus on for a few hours until his sister arrives to take over his emotional care."

"That's why I love you." Quincy's eyes twinkled merrily. "You care almost too much for people."

"So do you. I heard what you did for that newborn baby at the fire station. I'm so very proud, Quincy. My heart could just burst."

"Good place for it." Quincy quipped, gesturing at the crash cart gear stored all around them. "Just not right now, please. I don't want to work that hard doing CPR on you." he joked. "I'm bushed."

Terri's face suddenly furrowed and she sniffed the air around Quincy's head and shoulders. "Blood? Is that-"

"Not mine. Maybe a dog's. It's nothing. I needed a disguise. Listen, can we get out of here yet? I need another very long shower if you know what I mean."  
Quincy whispered into her ear.

Nearby, an orderly cat-call whistled at their very public embrace in the middle of the partially darkened hallway as he passed by.

Quincy and Terri broke apart, assuming professional stances again.

Stonelake narrowed her eyes. "You're not here just to set up another nightly roll in the hay. What gives?"

Quincy hung his head. "I need your sleuthing abilities. I need the last names of the firefighters with whom I was held hostage for personal business."

"You want to heal them." Terri said, smiling gently, her eyes shining.

"Yes. Nobody can live with another's horrific death on their conscience for very long without paying a terrible price." Quincy said eagerly. "I am going to go to them. But off duty, so I'm not wearing my white coat."

"I don't have their information. But I know somebody who does. Dixie McCall. She's a good friend to all of them." Terri shared.

"Where's she now?"

"Last I heard, she went to the Carter Street Animal Shelter to pick up the firefighters' dog, Boot, from the vet clinic."

"How long ago?"

"This afternoon. That's strange. She hasn't made it back yet." Stonelake said, looking around.

"Maybe the storm delayed her return." Quincy said. "It's raining cats and dogs out there. I'll give them a call. Thanks for the tip. See you later tonight."

"Bye, Quincy. Don't do anything..." Stonelake shook her finger at him.

He finished her words..."...that will turn me into a slab of meat prematurely.  
I know. I won't. Have I ever?"

"There's always a first time..." said Terri, retreating down the hall for the elevators. "Even paramedics can't be everywhere."

"Thanks for helping out our Irish firefighter friend."

"Anytime. It's gonna be hard to keep my hands to myself, Quincy. He's really cute."

"I trust you implicitly, Sweet Pea." Quincy shot back, heading for the stairs to go find a payphone and a phone book to utilize.

Photo: Chet Kelly wearing bandages in a hospital bed.

Photo: Millicent Fishmeyer beaming in a close up.

Photo: Rampart Hospital's side access road entrance.

Photo: Quincy in a hospital hallway.

Photo: Nurse Terri Stonelake, smiling in Rampart's cafeteria.

Photo: A stormy night, with very heavy rainclouds.

From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Sat 8/11/12 10:42 PM Subject: Drowning...

Hank Stanley moved in the darkness, wearing only a pair of blue jeans in the heat.

What attracted him to the kitchen, was the promise of a quiet cup of coffee, and a peach.

But the new storm outside the house was shattering his sense of peace. It made him pay closer attention. For long seconds, Hank's hand hesitated over the volume control on the soundless scanner that was always powered up on the counter top.  
Before his fingers could make contact, a soft set of smaller ones stopped him.

"Hank, you were excused from duty. Remember I get you exclusively for the whole two weeks. Not just in snatches." said Emily, his wife of twenty six years.

She saw his fire-captain smile briefly before it retreated underneath the surface of his skin. "Sorry, honey. My weather itch almost got the best of me." Hank said,  
shoving the radio monitor away.

"One hundred and seventy two other stations can worry about the lightning tonight. You don't have to." she smiled. Time had slightly silvered her long black locks, but Emily's soft amber eyes still held a sparkle of their former youth as she stood in a long flowered sundress. She reached out to the stove and picked up a coffee pot that had been left on low heat. "Let me take care of you already." she teased.

"Just thinking about the kids." Hank admitted as he watched her pour him his desired decaffeinated coffee.

"Ours? Or your other ones?" she chuckled, while she snatched a peach from a wooden bowl that his eyes had already chosen seconds before. She tossed it to him.

"Both." he quipped, rubbing an exhausted hand over his chest to release hidden tension as he crunched on the cool fruit happily. "I adopted the grown up ones practically the same day we had Abigail as I recall."

"But whom do you love more?" Emily teased, straddling a stool at the breakfast bar and stealing a quick sip from his cup.

"You know there's no way for me to answer that, Em. For families, I have two. And that engine back at the station, is my other wife. She nags me about that, too, almost as bad."

Em slapped him lightly on his nearest arm. And as the latest clap of thunder rolled away from them outside, her face stilled into an uncharacteristic look of deep concern. "You're still shaken up. You can't hide it. Are you sure you don't want to talk about what happened in more detail? I learned about most of it from the news."

Hank sighed and took her into his arms where the warmth of his body almost soothed her out of her fretting. "It's the same as always. Someone died. Another one lived. And one of mine got banged up a little. My distress is nothing that won't fade over time." he reasoned, his face very pale.

"It may pass, but not without a huge push or two. Or three. Your red eyes are betraying you. You haven't slept, Hank."

Captain Stanley's face suddenly wrinkled into silent tears. He took deeper refuge in her rich hair to hide the anguish that he had refused to show to his men the night before. "I can't, Em. I keep seeing her blood. All over the baby and on his hands." he sobbed.

"The baby's mother's? The one who was killed?"

"Yes.." Stanley whispered, his throat tight with immense sadness. "I'm just so grateful that we didn't have to see the violation the knife made of her body."  
He collapsed then, fully into her arms. "That coroner showed me a picture that he had taken from her wallet after we had taken care of Boot, Chet, and the infant. Oh, Em. She looked so much like you. That's all I've been thinking about for hours." he twisted up once more into a protective ball around her. "I'm just... so sorry she had to die like that at the hands of a madman. Now her daughter will never know who she was.. or...how much she was loved-" his voice broke off into a choke.

"Hey." Emily whispered, willing the tears to come more quickly out into the open. "You can't save the whole world, Hank. You only have a chance to save those you can reach. Like you did with me, so long ago."

Hank looked down into her elegant face and let her wipe his tears away into a kitchen towel. "I know. I know. But somehow this loss is so much harder to take. It was so brutal. And senseless."

Emily's face contorted, too, in horror. But she remained strong.  
"Some deaths are going to be like that. Because some people are sick and decide to act upon their impulses without a care for the harm they cause." Emily told him.  
"Be proud, Hank. You survived along with your men. And so did that precious little baby girl."

Hank just sobbed harder, suddenly suffering flashback after flashback. Unbidden, his hand touched the place on his neck where Ice's bloodied knife had touched him. "I was almost killed, Em. I ... I forgot to tell you that. My throat was almost cut like a steer's in a slaughter house. I can still smell... that stench... coming from his blade."

"Shh.. he only got through your defenses because you were caught off guard. You were safe in your own station but then that attack was so unexpected. To feel so vulnerable now is probably a very normal reaction. We can talk about it. Let tonight be a start. This is one small step on the way back to rebalancing. Let me help you, like you always do." Em shared tenderly. "Don't shut me out."

Hank forced his trembling grip around his wife's shoulders to let go as his face went blank. "I understand." he said, even as he nodded in agreement. "But I really... have to go see her." Stanley murmured desperately, his voice wheezing with grief.

"Who?" Emily asked, chilled to the bone when she thought of the murdered mother.  
::Oh, please. Don't let it be a corpse viewing...:: she begged in her head.

Hank slowly gripped both of her hands into his cold clammy ones.  
"T-The baby. I have to see the baby again, Em. I have to see her warm. And safe. And comfortable. Like we did when we visited our children this afternoon at their colleges. Only then will I be able to get some sleep." Hank begged.

Emily gripped him close. "Okay. We can do that. Let's head to Rampart right now. I'll notify the CISM counselor by phone that this is what you feel you need to do tonight.  
I'm sure they'll allow it. The baby's temporarily a ward of the state. Privacy laws may not be so strict about who can visit her. So let's try, my love." she said firmly.

Suddenly, her husband seemed very remote; mentally far away, like a broken marionette. "Do what, Em?" he wondered. "Did I say something?" Hank asked meekly, still folded up before her like a tiny, hurt child.

The sound of his voice nearly broke Emily's heart. "Yes. You did. You are so tired.  
But you're going to be okay. We're just going to go and see someone really really special. Put on a shirt and I'll go bring the car around the front."

"Okay.." Hank said, his eyes still wet, and very lost.

Two minutes later, the Stanleys were on the road in the midst of the full blown and growing midnight storm.

Photo: Rain on a street surface.

Photo: Hank Stanley crying in grief in a kitchen.  
Photo: Emily Stanley smiling at a den table.

Photo: A car navigating through a blinding night rain.  
************************************************** * From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Fri 8/31/12 10:28 AM Subject: Visitor...

There came a sharp rapping at the door of Gage's ranch house at the crack of gloomy dawn underneath the raging rain storm.

Both Sharon and Johnny shot bolt upright in bed in startlement.

"What the h-?!" Johnny mumbled blearily, shooting to his feet but getting tangled badly in the quilt which bound them together.

"Johnny, aren't we supposed to be in the middle of nowhere out here?" Walters chuckled, pulling the sheet up to her neck so anyone who might be by a window wouldn't catch a glimpse of the state of their undress through the lacy curtains.

"We sure are. With no trespassing signs in neon orange posted all over the place." Gage said. He didn't bother putting on a T-shirt. Just a pair of boxers and boots in case he had to chase out some door to door salesman. "Wait here. I think I'll deliver the message in person." he hissed, grabbing up a good stout hiking stick.

The sharp knocking continued in earnest with increasing urgency.

Johnny was crossing the spacious room of his log cabin living area towards the solid pinewood door when it suddenly opened expertly with a snick.

Gage raised his piece of wood. "Hey, you! Get outta h-!" his shout of warning choked off when he saw it was Craig Brice, looking harried and half dressed in muddy clothes. His usually neat hair was in total disarray. His eye glasses were missing entirely.

"Brice? What are you d-" his voice broke off when all was not well.

Craig stumbled over the landing and Gage caught him to prevent a fall,  
the door flinging wide open as his shoulder bumped it, revealing the full fury of the storm.

Johnny was shocked to find Brice soaking wet, uncharacteristically unprepared for the weather, chilled, and bleeding from a face cut.

"Holy sh*t, Brice? What happened to you?" Johnny asked urgently.

"M-Mud slide.." Craig said, his teeth chattering. "Car got buried early last night on the interstate. You were the closest help I could find."

With an effort, Johnny shoved the front door closed again and latched it against the fierce wind outside.

Gage snapped into paramedic mode. "Sharon! Get my med bag, first closet on the right next to the dresser! We've got an injured firefighter out here!" he shouted into the general direction of the bedroom as he gathered Craig up into a bear hug to move him away from the wet part of the floor.

"Miss Walters? Is she h-here?" Brice sputtered, chilled to the core.

"Yes. Now shut up and let me check you over. We've got to get you out of all of these wet things first. You're hypothermic." Johnny told him, reaching for a warm wool afghan that lay on a nearby couch.  
"No, don't move around. Keep leaning against the wall. Where do you hurt?"

Brice took a few seconds to register the question as Johnny took his pulse at a carotid. "Uh,.. I don't know precisely.. I... can't feel anything much right now."

"You're at 90 and it's thready. Do you remember blacking out?"

"No. Why?"

"You're pupils are dilated."

"Oh. Cranial involvement maybe?" Brice guessed weakily.

"That's my guess, too. How's your breathing doing?"

"It's fine.." Craig gasped in partial confusion. "I'm just...r-real cold."

Sharon Walters ran into the room wearing a hastily wrapped buffalo robe of Johnny's. "Craig Brice?! Oh my G*d. Johnny, how bad is he?"

"I don't know yet. Gimme some shears outta there. Then stoke a fire in the fireplace. Big as you can. We'll bundle him up in front of it once I'm through with a primary." Johnny told her quickly. "He said his car got nailed by a mudslide on the freeway." Gage said.

"But that's five miles away from here." Sharon blinked as she threw a match onto a pile of crumpled newspaper and logs.

"I know." Gage said. "That's what's worrying me. Just how bad is it out there? And what was he doing out on a rural road in the middle of the night in first place? It's his night off." he said, cutting away Brice's jeans, shirt, underwear and jacket from around him right where he sat propped up.

"A mass casualty all-call? You know he'd be first in line for anything like that."  
Sharon said, snatching up a bellows to nurse the flames she was building.

"Is my scanner off the air?" Johnny accused as he worked swiftly with his hands to find other problems on his semi-conscious patient.

Sharon blushed guiltily. "Yeah, uh, I had to turn it off on the CISM counselors' orders."

"They have no authority over me, Sharon!" Gage insisted. "He's got no fractures in any of his limbs so far." he reported as well, even through his anger. "No major bleeding."

"They do if Chief McConnikee gives it to them. And he did. You guys were too out of it emotionally to pay any attention to what he was doing during the briefing." Walters replied. "Didn't you see him telling me the restrictions on you guys face to face?"

Johnny didn't answer out loud, burying himself in his assessment work over Brice, but the sad light in his eyes answered the negative for him.

"Fire's set." Sharon told Johnny. "I'll get some towels next step so we can begin to dry him off. I know where they are." Walters hurried to Gage's side with a second blanket. She began folding it so it could be used for their patient as a way to drag Brice over the smooth wooden floor.

"His C-spine's clear." Gage reported. "No lumps or dislocations."

Together, nurse and paramedic lowered Craig from the wall to along its length onto the blanket Sharon had prepared. Then they rolled him onto his side long enough to check out his back again from head to heels. Johnny found another laceration, just below his ribcage.

"It's shallow." Sharon realized. "We can leave that one alone."

"Okay, bundle him up. I'm through. We'll get a real vitals set once he's baking."  
Gage ordered.

Soon Brice was parallel to a raging inferno that began pouring ample warmth into his body. The heat roused him. "Gage? W-Where am I?" he mumbled.

"My house. Enjoy the campfire. Popcorn's almost ready." Gage quipped,  
finally smiling a little as he leaned down into Brice's vision range. "You got any pain happening now?"

"From w-what?" Craig asked blearily as he shivered inside of his woolen cocoon.

"I'll take that as a no." Johnny told him. "Never mind, Brice. We'll worry about that later once you're warmed up."

"Hot soup?" Sharon offered, tossing a stack of towels from the bathroom into Johnny's arms.

"How about enough for two? Now I'm the one soaked to the skin." Gage grinned up at her. "He's gonna be fine. We can call for help and get him in once the storm decides to break."

Photo: Pinewood log cabin in the woods.

Photo: Johnny shirtless, at a desk with a girlfriend lounging on a bed.

Photo: Gage looking down, worried.

Photo: Craig Brice without his glasses by a cabin window.

Photo: An unconscious man getting his abdomen palpated.

Photo: Nurse Sharon Walters looking concerned.

Photo: A mudslide trapping two cars on a mountain freeway.

************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Mon 11/19/12 1:47 PM Subject: Rev Up

The coroner, Quincy, found Dr. Early conferring with Dr. Brackett and Dr. Morton at the nurse's desk where Dixie normally was stationed.

The head nurse wasn't visibly present. But then again, he thought, he didn't know her working hours schedule. He put on his best social smile and left the stairwell to head towards the trio at a brisk pace.

Kel looked up from his close conference huddle with Joe and Mike Morton. "Ah, Dr. Quincy. Just the man I wanted to see. Got a minute?"

"Yep. Got a phone book? I'll trade... My time... for some White Pages.." the coroner dangled, holding out a friendly, empty palm.

His request won him a sour look from Morton but one of amusement from the silver haired cardiologist, Dr. Early.

Dr. Brackett peered around for a bit around the E.R. desk until he found one propped up against the side of the patient chart rack.  
"For business or pleasure?" Kel smiled as he reached for it.

"Definitely pleasure, Doctor Brackett. I'm off to mend a few broken hearts, Dr. Brackett. But without any surgery.." Quincy joked to Dr. Early with a waggling finger. "At least, I hope I can fix them." he amended with a look of hesitant doubt upon his worry lined face. "Sam, my assistant, has already branded me a helpless cause and has threatened to bolt for the safety of home."

"Those hearts of yours wouldn't be belonging to six, bone weary firefighters, now would they?" Joe asked.

Quincy drew up short as he accepted the pro-offered White Pages that Morton passed over to him from Kel. "As a matter of fact..." his comment fizzled out into a look of self consciousness. "Yes. Am I allowed to talk to them even though they're still in a psychological evaluation period?"

Morton scoffed. "Sir, what you do on your own down time is up to you."  
said Mike. "We've got you pegged for another reason."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"The USGS has just declared a county wide alert for weather." Mike replied, angling his round glasses a little bit lower down onto his nose.

"Anything dire?" Quincy asked, knowing that meant mudslides.

"Nothing yet for us." said Kel. "But the storm's been bad enough to ground all news and fire department helicopters so they can't report on what conditions are going on out there." he reported.

"How does this...weather alert ...involve me?" Quincy wondered, waving a hand at the amber lit situation panel glowing above Rampart's police and fire scanner resting on the counter.

Brackett's face suddenly betrayed inner turmoil.  
"Car accidents are sure to happen tonight in greater frequency than normal due to traffic mishaps. And.. quite honestly, Dr. Quincy, we're worried about one of our nurses. She's late for her shift and we haven't been able to call her.  
Our outside phone lines appear to be down."

Morton piped up.. "And we know your morgue is near where she was heading this afternoon to do a favor for a few friends of ours. She went to pick up Station 51's dog from the vet's." he shared.

Quincy held up a sympathetic hand.  
"Say no more, doctors. I completely understand. We'll swing by the animal shelter on our way home to check and see if she's been smart enough to wait out the weather there. I've already been hearing from your arriving night staff that it's pretty bad outside. And getting worse." the coroner replied, opening up the phone book to look up the first firefighter name he could recall from memory for its street address. "We appreciate it." said Joe, offering Quincy a quick handshake in thanks. "She's never been late before, ever, and it caught our attention immediately. Carol here has been kind enough to take over the front desk."

Quincy waved back at Nurse Evan's professional smile when the dark haired woman responded to her spoken name. "Happy to poke around a little. I do that anyway." the older doctor quipped as he turned pages rapidly to find the right spots.

"We noticed." Kel grinned.

Chuckling, Joe, Kel, and Mike returned to their light medical rounds.

Frowning ruefully, Quincy tilted his head as he watched the activity level in the E.R. slowly begin to pick up its pace. ::Hmm.:: he thought. ::Maybe there's something to this weather alert of theirs after all. :: It was looking more and more like it was going to be a long night ahead of him. ::No time for a night cap at Danny's. Sam and I are going to have to delay that outing until tomorrow.:: He gathered the home addresses of Station 51's A-shift firemen and returned the phone book to Carol.

Then the coroner picked up the hospital's black house phone receiver to dial his assistant in the Nurse's lounge to tell him about their sudden change of plans for the evening. ::Sam won't object this time, because all we're doing is following up on the whereabouts of a nurse..::

Carol Evans looked up when she saw Emily Stanley walk in from the front entrance.  
She appeared to be holding and guiding her husband by the arm. Alarmed, she stood up quickly. "Is he-?"

"No. We're just visitors." Emily said about the ragged look on Cap's face. "He's not hurt. At least, not physically. We're just going to go see the baby." she emphasized significantly.

Evan's concern softened into understanding. "She's still on the third floor, in the west wing. We have her right in front of the incubation room's observation window." She handed over a pair of fire department visitor badges. "We knew some of you might be coming back in."

"Thanks." said Emily as she lovingly studied Hank's tear shiny, but vacant eyes. "I know he'll perk up once she's in his arms again and then maybe he'll be able to get some rest. I promise I'll watch them both."

Carol nodded and pointed the way to the elevators.

"Come on, love." she whispered to him. "We're almost there."

It was almost a full hour later, deep into the night.

"Unit 60 to base, come in." spoke A.C. Officer Dave Gordon into the mic of their animal control truck radio. "Base this is Unit 60, do you copy our transmission?" he shouted a little louder through the deluge of thunderstorm rain that was practically deafening he and his partner, Les Taylor, as they drove out of Carson residential blocks and into the rising canyonlands beyond. He took his finger off the talk toggle and gave vent to his rapidly growing frustration. "Come on, Patty." he complained. "There's no way the front desk phones are busy at the vet office this time of day and you're too good of a secretary to let any hail slide longer than thirty seconds so where the h*ll are you?"

Radio static continued to meet his ears.

Les Taylor kept a firm grip on the steering wheel as he drove them down the last avenue leading into the hill country. "Huh. That's a first. Dead air over our channel?" said his dark skinned coworker. "Something's gotta be wrong."

"What makes you think so?" grinned Dave as he scratched his damp, neatly trimmed frosted blond hair under his helmet. He laughed. "It is two minutes before closing. Can you blame Doc and the rest of the staff for clearing out before Noah's Ark's spotted floating down Carter Street?"

Taylor eyed Dave with a critical look. "Laugh all you like. A flood is a flood, Dave. Even if it didn't last long in the city. In case you've forgotten, our animal hospital is still situated inside of a humongous bath tub called a valley last time I checked."

"Relax, Les. There's a new spillway around work. It'll hold just fine."

"But the same old dirt's still there." Taylor snapped. "And that means landslides whenever the rain lasts for more than an hour."

"Who says? The weathermen? The USGS?" Dave scoffed lightly.

"No," said Les vehemently. "My gr-" he broke off, a self consciousness suddenly choking off his ire. "My grandmother if you must know. And she's never wrong. Not at fifty five." he finished, still tensing up.

"Yeah?" said Dave noticing a suddenly excessively pressed accelerator pedal. "We'll we're doing better than that. Slow down or we're going to get another speeding ticket."

"What? Oh!" Les exclaimed in horror when he realized what he was doing.

Vivid red lights suddenly bloomed out of the darkess and the unmistakable sound of a police siren.

Dave whirled around in instant dismay as he identified the cruiser as being of the truly official kind trailing them. "Too late. We're caught."

Les grumbled in irritation at himself. "Like dogs in the net. That was fast.  
Were we speeding for more than ten seconds? Maybe we can convince the judge to throw out the ticket on-"

"Just pull over! Whoever this is, this isn't your ordinary garden variety traffic stop. Somebody's waving us down!" Dave said, rubbing his brown jacket sleeve on his passenger window to clear it.

The figure running toward them was Officer Vince Howard.

"Sir, we can explain..." Dave began he said, rolling down the window and peering out into the driving rain.

"Unlikely. I'm not here about that. Why weren't you answering your radio?  
We've been trying to hail you for over two minutes straight." Vince said,  
tipping streaming rain water from off the rim of his police helmet.

"That would be kind of hard to do if we were also trying to transmit out at the same time.." Gordon shrugged. "What's the prob-"

Vince interrupted. "It's Carter Street! The drive in's been completely washed out by a huge mud flow and the highway engineers think it just may be big enough to threaten the vet hospital. They tell me nobody can move in or out of that strip mall."

"Oh, sh*t. Is that why our radio's been all static? Officer, our staff at work isn't answering our radio calls. They haven't replied to us yet and we've been trying to reach them for almost five minutes."

"Are you sure?" asked Howard, leaning heavily against their window sill against the wind.

"Absolutely. It's clear reception. See?" Dave showed him, clicking the live mic a few times to activate the open channel warble.

Vince's face turned firm with calculation. "How many people are in that building?"

"Uh, just two. Doc Coolidge and Patty Burns, our receptionist." Dave replied,  
breathing hard with rising worry.

"A-And any visitors who might be there for the animals." Les added quickly.

"Right. Let's go. Leave your truck. We're going in on foot."

"What?!" Dave spat. "I thought you said the road was washed out."

"It is. Look, fellas. The mudslide's already passed. It can't do anything more to us except get a little slippery underfoot in all this rain."

"Can't we call for some help?" Les asked. "We don't know what we're going to run into down there."

"We're it. The whole fire department's already back logged up to the hilt in emergency calls. They're evaluating each, one by one, and then handling the worst first. They won't be able to come for this. Not for a while." Howard reasoned. "There's no fire."

"D*mn it. Why do disasters in California have to happen all in the same week!" cursed Les in frustration. "Uh, okay. We've got ropes, flares, shovels."

Dave improvised even more. "And a pretty big first aid kit. We can throw them all into a dog net and drag it in after us."

"I'll add my medical gear and equipment." Howard said. "Leave your ambers on like I'm leaving my squad car lights going. It'll tip off anybody arriving that there's a problem around here."

"How's your radio?" Dave shouted over the storm as the two of them got out of the animal control truck's cab.

"Same as yours! Staticky!" Vince said running for his gear. "If you got a pair of HTs,  
bring them. We'll see if they work when we get some place dry. For the mean time, I suggest you bundle up into all the warm clothes you can under your rain gear."

Photo: Carol Evans - Rampart Nurse.

Photo: Dr. Morton, chit chatting.

Photo: Joe and Brackett, looking worried.

Photo: Quincy at Rampart.

Photo: A.C.O.'s Les Taylor and Dave Gordon in their animal control truck.

Photo: White animal rescue truck driving on a street.

Photo: Officer Vince Howard in his squad car.

Photo: An active mudslide.

Photo: A heavy, night time downpour.

**************************************************   
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Wed 11/21/12 1:21 AM Subject: What's A Little History?

The tangy salt of savory chicken broth steam rising around his nose made Craig Brice sneeze. He opened his eyes and found another spoonful of soup being offered to his lips. He startled and grabbed the hand that had been feeding him. Its tiny size was instantly swallowed in his own larger one. ::Wait a minute, I know this woman.:: he thought. "Nurse Walters. Wh-" he broke off his question when another sensation on his skin caught his attention. "Am I sitting bare naked, except for a blanket wrapped around me, right in front of you?"

"Yes." said Sharon, her face still inches from Craig's. Brice immediately cleared his throat quickly and felt his face grow hot as he let go of her fingers and the spoon. "Johnny!" she called out.

"Yeah?" came Gage's voice from the other room.

"He's feeling modest!" she hollered.

"Okay, I'll be right there..."

Craig kept on blinking a few times trying to get his brain to work on his new reality. He didn't resist Sharon wrapping his hands around the soup mug for its heat. He took a quick gulp from it without any urging. He didn't make any further eye contact as he recovered emotionally while he wrapped the blanket a little tighter around himself with his free hand.

Walters got up and moved to a couch near the spot Brice sat on the rug before the roaring fire. "In case you can't remember, Mr. Brice,  
you saved your own life this evening by coming to Mr. Gage's house for shelter after falling afoul of an ugly thunderstorm." She poured him a refill of broth from a tea pot. "Here's more. You're still a bit cold. Keep drinking. And no, I didn't think anything of it. I was too scared to death worrying over you to care about what I was looking at."

"Thank you. For that reassurance. I don't know why that bothered me.  
We're all medical people."

Sharon was honest. "Look, Craig. It was no secret you had a crush on me before you married your wife. There are still bound to be left over feelings. It's no biggie. Nobody can turn their heart off. All we can do is choose not to act on it. Besides, I'm with Johnny now. Can't you tell?" she shrugged.

Clear signs of a set of hickies peppered her neck. Brice blushed again,  
and cursed when Sharon started laughing out loud in sympathy.

Johnny Gage entering the room with a set of folded clothes, breaking the uncomfortable moment with action. "Welcome back to full consciousness,  
Brice. About time you quit fighting us. How's your head now?" he said, crouching down in front of him. He began to examine Craig's pupillary responses with a pen light without preamble.

"Fine." Brice answered quickly as he tolerated the neuro check.

"A little too clear." Walters quipped at the same time.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gage frowned at them both.

"Nothing." they both said at the same time.

"An inside joke." Sharon amended.

"On me." Craig admitted.

Gage didn't even bat an eye. "Glad you're feeling better. Any nausea?"

"None at all." Craig replied, reaching for the tea pot again to refill his empty mug. "Just a dull ache where this cut on my face is."

"Good. Now can you tell me what the h*ll you were doing out on our mountain road in the middle of the night in less than favorable weather conditions?" Johnny asked.

Craig froze in place, suddenly remembering. "Oh no. Gage, turn on your radio."

"Why?" Johnny asked suspiciously, getting up to do just that. "What have I been missing?" and he glared at Sharon, who looked away in self consciousness.

"Only a county wide emergency resource call out. Do you remember Pompeii from history?"

"Yeah. A town buried in ash from a volcano."

"Try five buried in mud." Craig shared. "This downpour's turned into a record flood. I was on my way to answer 110's call for additional paramedic personnel when part of your mountain decided to cave in over my Porsche."

"Never mind about that. Nothing we can do right now for any of them with the wind conditions I just found out there. The trees are practically laying flat. How long do you think you were blacked out?" he said, turning the scanner's volume down to a murmur.

Craig just lowered his head and started fidgetting with his hands.

"Come on, Craig. Your B.P. still wasn't stellar when I checked it five minutes ago."  
Johnny said, giving him a daggered stare.

Brice's sense of duty finally made him give in to his attending paramedic.  
"Maybe... two hours. It was sun up over the trees when it happened and just after dark when I woke up."

"Two hours?!" Gage griped. "Brice, you could have a subdural bleed going on."

"I don't."

"And how would you know?" Johnny challenged him.

"Easy, Gage. My heart rate's fast, not slow and my B.P.'s low not high. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with my breathing rate if I'm talking to you in full sentences like this."

Johnny's mouth gaped open. Then he just angled his head. "Well, you got me there. No Cushing's triad. Quit trying to be so perfect when you're hurt.  
That's my job as your attending paramedic!" he snapped, his rage faltering.

Both Sharon and Craig smiled at each other.

"All right. I'll stop talking. Feel better?" Craig joked.

"Yes. Er.. no! Quit messing with my head, Brice." Gage warned, poking an antibiotic ointment smothered two by two gauze pad at the still oozing cut on Craig's cheek.

"Why? You're messing with mine. Ouch!" Craig said, swiping at Gage's hand.

"Boys. Be civil. People are probably at risk of dying out there. So what are we going to do about it once this storm dies down a little?" Sharon said succinctly.

Brice and Gage both looked at her and said the same thing at the same time. "We'll go rescue them."

"Cool. I'll start gathering up all our gear." she smiled, hopping to her feet into action. She was out of the room before either firefighter could protest.

"Have we just been had, Brice?" Johnny said, his salve dabbing paused in mid dab.

"Fraid so." sighed Brice, feeling the cut's treatment progress with a few finger tips.

"Women..." they both sighed, looking after the door through which Sharon had disappeared.

Photo: Brice without glasses.

Photo: Sharon Walters laughing outside.

Photo: Gage concentrating on an intent examination.

Photo: A roaring fireplace.

Photo: A mug of hot broth.

************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Mon 1/07/13 2:16 PM Subject: The Mud In Your Eye

"So this is the kid we saved, eh, Cap?"

Hank Stanley startled at the soft tenor voice that spoke up into his ear. "Oh my G*d. Chet. I-I'm sorry. I - I completely forgot that you were still here." Cap looked up from the baby cradled in his arms inside the maternity ward to look at an I.V.-less Kelly, also seated, in a wheel chair being pushed by Ms. Millicent Fishmeyer.

Nearby, Emily Stanley just smiled from the couch and didn't look up from the book she was reading.

"Small wonder. Your wife said you haven't slept all night. Now what's up with that? I've got a lung with a barely patched hole in it and even I managed to get a few winks. Just hand her over.. Your eyes are about to put out the fire." Chet said no nonsense as he gestured impatiently to take the sleeping infant from Hank, whose tired eyes were drooping out of control.

"Hmm?" Cap grunted sleepily. His hands grasped the air absently where she had been. "She okay?" he mumbled in concern.

"Yes. Go to sleep. And that's an order. " Kelly whispered firmly so as to not awaken their charge.

"Before you become a patient yourself." added Millie helpfully.

Chet looked up at her. "Thanks, Mrs. Fish. For wheeling me down."

"Anytime, dear. Now,... I'll be right outside if there's anything else you boys need me to do." she said as she backed out of the room.

Chet and Emily both nodded warmly for Cap, who was rapidly losing the battle to keep on feeling bad.

The door of the ward shut, leaving the group of four alone with the nurse monitoring them discreetly from the nurse's station in the I.C.U. room.

Emily watched her husband fall awkwardly into slumber seconds later.  
"It's about time. I knew this would work." she admitted to Chet as she rose to flip a blanket over Hank's shoulders and lap for warmth. "Thanks for coming."

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away." Kelly admitted ruefully. "My sister told me you two walked in the door. She was down by the E.R. admissions desk getting the latest scoop on the big-"

Emily shushed him with a quick finger to her lips. "I don't want him to know."  
she mouthed without speaking.

Kelly nodded. "Okay. We can talk about something else. I am kind of stuck here at Rampart. What can I do about it all out there? Absolutely nothing."  
he grinned.

"Sorry, Chet. I just don't want his stubborn streak to kick in. This is the first time in years I've ever seen him overdo it." Emily apologized.

"You don't have to apologize, Mrs. Stanley. Once the guys find out he's like this,  
they'll probably sit on him to keep him in bed." Chet joked.

"Where's your sister?"

"She's napping. A connecting flight from Seattle will do that to you. She had a lay over of four hours in Denver. Once she found out I was fine she snagged a pillow from the closet and konked out on the couch in my room. I ordered a pizza for her from dietary. She can eat it when she wakes up." Chet said.

"So how are you doing? They didn't tell me much." Emily said, stretching a bit and setting her mystery novel aside.

Chet kicked up the foot stands on his wheelchair, locked it, and got out gingerly.  
"They can't. So I will. I'm great. Nothing major broken. And I'm sore. Well, maybe my pride. A little. I mean a guy just doesn't go into work every day expecting a pair of crazies breaking in and holding you at gun and knife point for hours on end." he said, carefully trying his legs in a walk around the last vestiges of his lingering medication effects. He finally sat down onto a night stand next to Emily.

She sighed, looking at him thoughtfully, with a great inner strength that showed brightly in her deeply colored, hazel eyes. "I'm sorry you and Hank had to go through what you did. Some things are unpreventable, Chet. And no matter how big the door lock is, sometimes you just can't keep the bad things out." she said, not meaning the dead bolt on the fire station door. "I'm here for you. All of you. Not just for my husband. We're family."

Chet's eyes filled suddenly and he held out his I.V. site Band-aid-ed hand and took her offered one. "It was bad, Em." he said, his voice choking up and sniffling as he battled sudden emotions. "I was sedated, but I saw everything. If Quincy hadn't of gotten into the middle of things, by getting inside of those convicts' heads, I don't know what would have happened to us."

Emily's face twisted in sympathy as tears came, too. "Shh, we'll make her cry." she said of the baby in his arms.

"No, we're going to make her smile, Em. All of us. We're going to find her family and make sure she gets back to them. Safe and sound." Kelly promised, taking Emily into a soft hug. "Now that's something Cap's already insisted on. Right along with that coroner who saved all of our butts."

Emily laughed and tears squirted down her face before she wiped them away.  
"Sometimes it really sucks being a firefighter's wife."

"Yeah? Well, try being a firefighter sometimes. You'll be changing your tune real fast." He joked. "Dumpster fires, false alarms, middle of the night calls with cats stuck in trees.. Nah, yesterday was just a fluke and that's what we're going to tell Cap when he wakes up." Kelly released Emily and began fussing affectionately with the baby's wraps with a few tender fingers. "She's comfortable. And if we stick together,  
we'll all feel the same way real soon." he promised.

"I know we will, Chet. I brought Hank to the hospital so we can begin the whole healing process they're all talking about." she grinned, showing him the CISM pamphlet she pulled out of her purse. "And I think visiting the baby is a good start."

Millie poked her head in the door. "I need to see you both."

Emily and Chet looked up at Mrs. Fishmeyer in her candy striper uniform with questions in their eyes.

"In private." she said, tossing her head towards their sleeping Captain.

The nurse at the desk cleared her throat and she got up to collect the little girl from Chet to put her back into her heated incubator.

Once in the hallway, Millie made sure the door leading into the baby's ward was shut tight between Cap and themselves. "There's just been an announcement. Some kind of big disaster. An ARKstorm, they called it. They said the weather is forming mudslides."

"Oh, no." Kelly gasped.

"What's an ARKstorm?" Emily asked.

"It's a codeword for a scenario that matches the Great Flood of 1861-2. That year, the rain that pooled in the Central Valley in San Joaquin County flooded for a hundred square miles." Kelly said. "I learned about it last year in some new training at Headquarters." he turned to their older companion. "Millie, what areas are being impacted. Do you remember?"  
Millie concentrated, her wrinkled mouth working with effort.  
"The worst is in Rialto. On E. Carter St. At the Five Points Plaza Shopping Center." she reported.  
"I think. I'm horrible at remembering addresses." she fretted.

"That's good enough. Okay, ahh.." said Chet, thinking fast. "They'll probably be calling all off duty firefighters to report in. And Cap's not going to know about this, kapesh? He's completely exhausted.  
Listen, I'll handle everything by phone and-" he broke off as an orderly walked by, curious of their gathering. He wandered away moments later. Chet continued. "Shh, don't tell the staff. I'll be in my room." Kelly said, carefully walking away, around the pain he had left in his chest. "I'm going to get the guys in on this despite our medical leave orders. They'd kill me if they found out I didn't even try."

Nodding, Emily got back into the ward with her husband and shut the door quietly so he wouldn't wake.

Millie eyed up her patient charge. "Now what? You left your wheelchair in there."

Chet waggled his eyebrows in jest. "Millie.. think you can you carry me?"

She slugged him on the arm. "I'm 94 years old, young man. What do you think?"

Grinning, Kelly waved over an orderly, who got him a new one when he spotted Chet standing a little bit crooked from his remnant pain, in his patient robe.

Johnny Gage dressed and packed up what he thought he needed, swiftly. "Brice, feeling up to coming with us?"

"I'm not cold any more if that's what you're wondering." Craig offered.

"Hmmm." Sharon said thoughtfully, right before she pinched him square on the haunch.

"Ouch!" Brice yelped, jumping away from her.

She grinned. "Oriented times three, Johnny. Looks like a good, healthy anger to me."

Brice shrugged her off in half embarrassment and half irritation. "Gage, just why are YOU going? It's against medical leave orders."

"What I do on my own free time, is none of Headquarters business. If somebody wants to hide in their office and b*tch about things without seeing me face to face in person about it for some talking, it's all fine by me. That's just cowardice in my book. Policy or no policy.  
So don't quote it." he challenged, grabbing up his duffle. "I don't have to use their channels."

"The chiefs are grunts, Brice." Walters snapped. "They're only emotionally winged, not physically."  
she said of Station 51's A shift. Sharon Walters tossed Brice a warm coat as she snatched up an ample medical bag. "Two weeks off is hogwash. Do you think we can get through, Johnny? I saw a lot of mud out there. Even up this high."

"I've got a Land Rover, not a Porsche." he winked without amusement.

"Ouch." Brice muttered, remembering his mud buried car.

Johnny ignored him. "It can get through anything." he said. "Got my handy talkie?" he asked Sharon.

"Yeah. It's on." she replied, patting her backpack.

"Turn it off the fire department frequency and on to the police department's. I'm allowed to talk to them anytime." he said sarcastically.

"Got it."

Gage grabbed his keys and opened the front door once his rain gear was on.  
"Brice, I'm driving. You're lying down in the back until we get there. I don't want you to get nailed by any body core temperature afterdrop."

"Where are we going?" Craig asked, shouting over the storm that exploded over them as they struggled past, and then through the front door.

"Where do you think? We're going to get the guys. One by one, if that's what it takes.  
I'll be damned if I'm going to answer a county wide disaster call sitting down."

Brice slipped and almost lost his balance on a sheet of mud forming under his feet before a quick grab onto a wooden porch pillar saved him. "We just may have to."

Photo: Gage in a plaid shirt on a porch.

Photo: Sharon Walters looking down in concern.

Photo: A raging night storm.

Photo: Cap, looking bewildered at Rampart.

Photo: Emily Stanley, sitting on a couch.

Photo: Craig Brice, looking thoughtful by a window.

Photo: Johnny's Landrover, rushing in a desert.

Photo: A sleeping baby girl in a yellow blanket.

************************************************** *  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Sat 1/12/13 10:26 PM Subject: Rumblings..

It was near dawn.

Roy DeSoto had just locked up his boxes of ammo back into the family safe and padlocked the doors on his rifle cabinet when he heard two sets of barefeet accompanied by a matching set of Ralphie claws on the kitchen tiles.

The newly regained relaxation he felt in his body thankfully mirrored the expression on his face as he turned around. "Morning, kids. Sleep well?"

"Yeah, Dad." said Chris as he was nearly bowled over by Ralphie, the Irish Setter,  
who wanted in on the sudden family greeting. "Is it still storming out?"

"I'm afraid so."  
Roy held open his arms and hugged his kids tightly in an affectionate mock growling bear hug. "You know how much I love both of you, right?"

"Lots!" they both chorused. Roy's daughter was the first to let go when she spied an abandoned, well chewed up Hungarian Magic Cube on the floor by their feet. "Betcha I can solve it in four minutes!" she challenged her brother as she snatched the dog tooth punctured puzzle up and began twisting its multi colored squares around.

"No fair! You've memorized all the solving pattern moves from Chet." Chris laughed as he let his Dad go, to oggle up their current favorite toy in his sister's hands.

"You'll learn." she said diplomatically.

"Now I'm jealous. Who's the real champ in the house?" Roy mock frowned.

"You are, Dad!" they both said happily, the cube puzzle toy immediately forgotten.

"Nobody's better than a fire fighter." said Chris as he hopped on Ralphie's back in a mock horse ride. The Irish Setter just sighed and sat down patiently until the leggy boy slid off.

"Where's your mother?" DeSoto wondered, looking around the dining room where they were.

"She's in the shower. She said she had to go soak the kinks out because she felt like she had run twenty miles. But how is that possible? It's been raining all night." Chris asked, totally clueless.

Roy blushed and just ruffled Chris's red hair. "Uh, never mind. She's fine. Are you guys getting hungry?"

"Yeah!" They replied joyfully.

Boom! echoed some thunder as it rattled the windows.

"Whoaaa..." huddled all three together in another hug ring, feigning fear.

Bark! said Ralphie.

"What's for breakfast, Daddy?" asked his daughter.

"Anything you want because today's a special day. I don't have to go to work."  
he smiled. "For a pretty long time." he murmured under his breath, not exactly happy.

"All right! A vacation? How about fish sticks and custard?" Chris suggested.

"Eoww." "Yuck." Father and daughter both echoed empathetically.

"Where did you try that?" she asked her brother, rubbing her bright blond bangs out of her eyes.

"At Robbie's house. He's from England. He says it's all the rage."

"Speaking of which, I'd better get your mother's coffee going here or she's going to get that way all by herself." Roy said, heading for the kitchen.

"Boy have we seen that." Chris giggled. "Me? I like my orange juice."

"Make mine cranapple." said Roy's youngest as she headed for the cabinet that held the dog's kibble food.

Roy sighed. "I'm java hooked just like your mother. No thanks to my partner in crime."  
he grumbled for their benefit.

"Johnny?! Is he coming over?" Chris asked as he began to set the table for five. Roy grinned when he saw that the fifth spot was a dog bowl, complete with silverware and a napkin.

Roy shrugged, playing tug of war with Ralphie and a beef bone. "That's a good boy.  
Grrr..." he laughed. "I don't know. I invited him over last night. Whether or not he comes is up to him."

At that, his little girl's blue eyes turned serious and round. "You were late last night. I got worried. Why, Daddy? Momma wouldn't say. She tried to hide it but she was worried, too. We could tell."

Chris, being older, held his tongue and just listened. His table setting slowed down as he concentrated on the conversation. Roy could see he wore a carefully neutral expression.

Roy finished setting up the Mr. Coffee machine and turned it on. Then he moved to a dining room chair at the table, reversed it, and faced them. "Well,..." he said softly. "Take a seat, and I'll tell you."

His daughter and son slid into their usual chairs and Roy took his, the one facing the windows, so he could always look out. DeSoto took a deep breath and started talking. "There was a jail break yesterday and a lot of bad men got out and decided run around the city and bother people. But they've all been captured and things are completely safe now. "

"So... what happened to you during all of that?" Chris wondered, adding it up.

"Me? I was at the station, with the rest of the guys, minding our own business,  
answering calls as they came in... Just basically, the same old stuff." he grinned unconvincingly.

The look of doubt on his daughter's face made him get honest fast. "And then?"  
she asked, half scared, half firm.

Roy kept on smiling, even though it didn't touch his eyes.  
"A couple of those men tricked us into letting them inside where they bossed us around for a while." DeSoto explained. "As you can imagine, just like TV, there was a fight before we captured them for the police to take away. Boot and Chet were both hurt. But they're okay now. Johnny and I and a really smart medical examiner took care of them. In fact, both those guys should be coming home from the hospital today." he smiled, folding up some cloth napkins. "So, all's well that ends well."

Roy's little girl was very perceptive. "But you're acting like you're hurt, Daddy."

DeSoto's face went blank and surprised. "I am?"

"Yes." said Chris softly. "Your voice sounds like you're faking. You're not happy at all."

A freshly groomed Joanne had overheard them and she quietly joined them at the table with a bowl full of fruit. She casually chose a banana out of it and began peeling it while she listened to the rest of her family navigate deep water.

Roy quickly eyed up his wife and took her hand subconsciously, while at their feet, Ralphie betrayed the tension in the room, by whining.

Roy held very still. "I won't lie to you, Chris. Those jail men did some bad things. But Johnny and I, and a friend named Quincy, managed to save a baby girl afterwards."

"What about her mother?" his daughter asked. "I- is she okay? Daddy, babies have to be with their mothers."

Roy's eyes got very bright with unshed tears and his eyes quickly met Joanne's.  
"She didn't make it, love. And that's why your mother and I are so sad."

The children didn't move, still digesting the openly shared evil that their father had lived through so recently.

Chris was wise beyond his twelve years. "This is just like the war, isn't it? When you first came back home. From Viet Nam."

"Yes. It is, son. A-And this hurts just as bad." Roy told them. "Because a good person died for absolutely no reason at all."

Silence stretched into a long minute.

Joanne broke the quiet with some optimism.  
"It'll take time, kids. But your father will heal these strong feelings. Just like all the other times he came home a little banged up. Can you see that it's up to us to be there for each other whenever one of us is feeling down? Everybody needs a little help every now and then. And it's okay for your Dad to feel bad like this. It won't last long."

Right then a clap of thunder rumbled through the house followed by the unmistakable hollow gurgle of Ralphie's very hungry morning stomach.

Nervously, DeSotos burst out laughing. Gradually they settled in to eat, with the addition of a box of kleenix for Roy to use at will as he got some rein back on his close to the surface emotions.

The last dish was being cleared away when there was a fierce knocking at the front door.

Quickly, Roy moved to the curtains and eyed up the porch area through a slit in the shade's gossamer. "Three people. Hard to tell through the rain. But I think one of them's Johnny." he told Joanne, hurrying to unlock the door.

Brice, Sharon and Gage tumbled inside and together they shoved the DeSotos' door shut against the wild winds. Sharon immediately helped Craig over to the foyer's shoe bench. "Sit. You've got to get yourself warmed back up before we do anything else." she said.

And the same time, Johnny spoke rapidly in a run of hyperactivity while all of them dripped rivers onto the tile floor. "Roy, we've got to handle some work around work if you know what I mean. Brice was flattened by the first of a whole slew of mudslides hitting all over the state. But he's pretty much recovered from it. Nothing that a little more coffee won't fix."

"I'll get some. For all of you." said Joanne. "Kids, go break out some mugs and.. and..  
some bath towels."

"Okay." they replied, running to do the tasks.

Once they were out of ear shot, Roy asked. "Is it that bad outside?"

"Hasn't your radio scanner been on?" Gage countered.

"No. I've been occupied with... family life." DeSoto replied. "Now about Brice's mishap."

Craig answered him. "Knocked out two hours, two small cuts. No other symptoms."

"Liar." Johnny retorted. "Add hypothermia, barely corrected. Roy, we had to bring him along."

"And not to the hospital?" DeSoto minced, getting irritated.

"He wouldn't go. Not with this disaster call happening." Sharon said.

"All right. Where are we headed to next?" Roy asked as his family returned with hot beverages and dry beach towels. Soon, everything was handed out.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

Joanne went into the kitchen to answer it. "Roy? It's for you. It's Chet."

"What?!" both Roy and Johnny exclaimed.

The DeSoto kids started giggling.

Chris laughed. "I thought he was still in the hospital, Dad."

"He is." the two paramedics replied.

"On strict orders to rest until they release him later on today." Roy shared angrily.

Joanne just rolled her eyes in sympathy as she cradled the phone in her hand.  
"Do you want to talk to him?"

Roy picked up the hallway phone receiver. "Kelly? I know. He's here already."  
he said, punching the button to speaker mode on the phone so everybody could hear.

Kelly's excited voice came through. He did not sound drugged one iota.  
##Oh, okay man. I'll try Mike and Marco next. There's a major new hot spot that's all the EBS is talking about, so I'll tell the guys to meet you there. ## Chet asked.

"Where's that?" DeSoto asked.

##E. Carter St. in Rialto. Five Points Plaza Shopping Center. ##

"Hey, isn't that where Boot is?" Johnny wondered. "At the vets?"

Roy shushed him. "What have you been hearing about that area, Chet?"

##The hospital radio emergency channel says half the shopping center's been buried. You better get a move on. A hammie called this one in. And I don't think U.S.A.R. or the fire department's even there yet. They're on a site five miles away handling a bunch of landslided car victims. ##

"We got it, Chet." said Roy.

"Now stay put!" Gage warned.

## I will. I can do more from my bed than I can from-## Click went the receiver as Roy hung up the phone.

"Wow, uh.. Joanne. Can you pack up the car with all my bug out gear?" Roy asked.

"Of course. The kids and I are pretty quick at it now." she nodded.

Sharon Walters spoke up from where she was tying her hair back into a bun that the wind had loosened. "I'll help. I know you two want to poke at Brice again before we leave." She eyed up Joanne. "Can I call the hospital and let them know where we're heading? Dr. Brackett's going to want to know why I'm not in yet. He's on today as chief physician."

"Feel free." said Mrs. DeSoto as she and the children made a bee line for the garage.

Sharon reached the main E.R. desk by land line and started talking.

Gage and DeSoto turned to face Craig as one as they began a head to toe sweep, re-examining him. Brice did not complain.

"How's your shivering?" Johnny asked.

"It's over." Craig said, gulping down the coffee that one of the DeSotos had given him.

Roy reached into a closet and got out a small kit. Inside of it was a BP cuff and stethoscope.

Brice quipped. "Plan ahead much?"

"I've got two kids who used to be accident prone." Roy grumbled. "Free up an arm, Craig. I want to see what you're sitting at."

Craig winced as he moved one.

"Your good one." DeSoto prompted with exacerbation.

"He's hurt his arm?" Johnny asked, startled from his addressing the bandage on Craig's cheek. "You've hurt your arm?!" he chided Brice to his face in irritation.

Roy just grinned. "The left one. He was hiding it. But I can still read him like a book."

"Only you can, DeSoto." Brice sighed."It's just a strained muscle. I had to dig a long time before I managed to free myself from my car." Then he explained to Johnny. "What, Gage? We trained up in the same paramedic class. Your partner was my first partner."

Roy stayed out of it and got a reading. "120 over 96... Hmm. Pulse is fast."

"That's the caffeine." Craig grumbled impatiently.

"After Stone." Johnny said eventually, while doing a few neural checks.

"Before Stone." Brice corrected. "Gage, Stone was YOUR first paramedic partner."

Johnny looked puzzled as he tried to remember back on earlier conversations with Roy from six years ago, but then Brice coughed liquidly and shattered his reverie.

Both paramedics immediately frowned. "Pulmonary fluid or coffee?" Roy finally asked as he moved the stethoscope ear pieces back into his ears to take some breath sounds.

"The Folgers. It's hot. Why won't you listen to me, guys? I told you I was fine." Brice insisted. "If the only things you'll believe are my vitals signs, knock yourself out. The sooner you're convinced, the sooner we can get out of here and get where we're really needed." he insisted. "That two hour black out of mine could have been chilled sleep."

"Breathe." Roy countered, ignoring him. "In and out and keep at it."

"But-"

"Just do it." Johnny said.

Brice rolled his eyes as he felt the stethoscope's icy drum hit a first spot on his mid back over his rib cage and then seven more times in all quadrants around his chest.

A minute later, Roy dropped it back down around his neck in annoyance.

"See?" said Brice. "I'm clear." Then he stood. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to help myself to some breakfast. That cereal and fruit bowl over there are calling to me almost as badly as the coffee did." he said.

Gage rose and put his pen light back into his pocket as he eyed up Roy. "What do you think?"

"He's fine." Roy replied. "Just like the man said. In fact, I think it's better he's tagging along then running around out there trying to find and meet up with our engine company. This way, we can control things and keep an eye on him."

"I hope you're right." Johnny scoffed. Then he glanced at the dining room table speculatively. "Say, Roy. He's onto something. Can I eat some breakfast, too?"

Photo: Roy looking serious at home.

Photo: Joanne DeSoto close up.

Photo: Red haired Chris DeSoto.

Photo: Roy DeSoto's daughter at supper.

Photo: Night lacy curtains.

Photo: Sharon Walters analyzing.

Photo: Johnny Gage, grinning hugely.

Photo: Brice, in a dirty shirt, no glasses.

Photo: A mudslide engulfing three cars.

Photo: U.S.A.R.'s rescue trailer.

************************************************** *  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Tue 3/19/13 1:24 PM Subject: The Mound...

Sam Fujiyama winced at the powerful lightning erupting around their black county coroner's wagon. He began to grip the dashboard even tighter. "Uh, Quincy. I'm beginning to think checking up on that nurse for Dr. Brackett isn't such a great idea.  
We could get ourselves killed out there!"

"We're not out there yet." said Quincy, turning up the wagon's wipers even higher as he gamely struggled to peer through a windshield being pummeled by a sheet of wind and intense rain through the darkness. "It's plenty safe for us in here. Do you see me taking any unnecessary chances?" he snapped in frustration and partially from hunger.

"Your whole persona's about taking unnecessary chances. And you like to drag me along with it." Sam griped. "Here.." he growled in passive irritation.

"What's this?" Quincy grunted, feeling a smack on a leg as a fist and arm laid something in between his knees onto the seat beneath the steering wheel.

"Food." Sam retorted, keeping a very watchful eye on the road barely seen in front of them.  
"A Mounds bar. I can hear your stomach growling louder than the thunder. I figure if I can keep you fed, maybe we'll both survive this little side trip of yours with the barest minimum of griping from the boss."

Quincy eyed up his assistant in utter mortification. "Sam.. Do you honestly see me that way?"

"Frequently." Sam huffed, not bothering to hide being uptight about the violence of the weather. "Your mouth's only slightly faster than your moralistic impulses most of the time." he said, snatching up the Mounds bar only long enough to peel off its clammy paper and to shove half of it into Quincy's mouth.

"I can't help it. I'm a hot blooded Jewish coroner!" the M.E. groused, chewing the large bite of candy muffling him quickly.

"God save my poor slant eyes. And my rear." Sam mumbled.

"You're not Christian, you're Buddhist. So quit pretending. Sam, I'm shocked at you. Your famous kusala's drowning in just a bit of invading nivirana now, eh?"

Sam winced again, this time in self admonishment.

"You did ask me to remind you whenever it crops up." Quincy suddenly hit the brakes, sending Sam into another full lock armed brace against the dash to keep his face in one piece. "Oo! That's our turn!"

"How can you tell?" Sam asked, rubbing a pulled down sleeve to clear a steamy window.

"We passed the mall sign. It's yellow. Remember?" Quincy scowled.

Sam's eyes widened. "Uh, but I'm not seeing any mall to go along with it. Are you?"

Quincy swallowed the last of the sweet. "Hmm. No, I'm not. That's odd." he said, slowing down. "We are in the right place." he said, peering around the parking lot. He flicked on the high beams as they crept ahead.

"The vet's office should be right in front of us." said Sam. "The hardware store's right next to it, isn't it?" Sam asked over the roar of the rain.

"Yeah. ACE. See the awning? But where's the vet's store front to the left of it?"

The extra head lamps' light suddenly illuminated some nastiness; the thick slurry of a recently expended mudslide.

"Whoa.." Sam grunted as Quincy hit the brakes to avoid driving into it. "That's mud!"

"A whole lot of it. I think we've just found our answer about the mall, Sam. It's been buried. Come on!" the M.E. said, flinging the station wagon's door open so he could get out . Quincy yanked up the hood of his rain slicker with one hand as he grabbed a flashlight from a side pocket with the other.

Sam quickly joined him, also decked head to toe in rubber. "Wait a minute, Quincy. We can't do anything about this. This is fire department or U.S.A.R. territory."

"The h*ll we can't! Don't worry, Sam. We'll play it safe. But I've got to find out if anybody's still alive under all of that." Quincy urged.

They were only seconds into beginning to mill about in front of the new hill of mud draped over the shopping mall when three new flashlight beams appeared out of nowhere through the driving night storm surrounding the coroner and his assistant.

"Halt!" came Vince's booming voice. "This whole area's an emergency disaster zone site. You civilians clear out of here, pronto!" he ordered in a command tone, thinking Quincy and Sam were a pair of early looters.

"Not civilian, officer." shouted Quincy as he saw the wink of Vince's badge in his light beam. He raised his wallet, showing off his own shiny coroner's shield and then he aimed the flashlight toward the wording stenciled on the side of their black wagon. "L.A. County Coroner's Office. We're not robbing the place. We're here checking up on a possible missing nurse that a Dr. Kel Brackett at Rampart Hospital told us about. Her name's Dixie McCall. I'm Dr. Quincy and this is Sam Fujiyama, my lab assistant."

Les Taylor and Dave Gordon from the Animal Shelter took over the anxious search for a way into the vet's clinic. Les toggled his plastic wrapped radio once again. "Unit 60 to Base.. Doc,  
do you hear us?" he shouted. Their channel to the vet remained silent. "D*mn it!" he cursed.  
"They're still not answering."

"Try again." said Gordon, the burly African American. "We're closer to where the roof antennae should be."

Vince heard this only peripherally as he addressed Quincy and Sam. "Vince Howard. And these two work for the animal shelter, Les Taylor and Dave Gordon. Sorry, Mister. But you're going to have to leave. We're far from safe conditions here and legally, it's still too early for you to be on site before the scene's been fully secured by rescue services."

Quincy's ire rose swiftly. "Do you see any fire engines or ambulances coming, sir? The five of us are the first in! And probably the only ones available to come for hours yet. If there's any rescuing to be done by any kind of coordinated team, I'm afraid we're it. So, respectfully,  
where do we really stand here?!"

A tense stand off charged with worry, challenge and anxiety filled long seconds, broken only by the frequent thunder booming over their heads.

Finally, Vince nodded his helmeted head. "Okay, you can help us scout around. But you take orders from me."

"Understood, Officer. You're in charge." Quincy grinned through the rain coating his hooded face. "That much is clear."

Vince eyed up his two frantic companions as they started a running beeline for the mud pile. "Not that way! There's not gonna be a hole anywhere near that. We'll try through a wall of the Hardware store. There's plenty of tools we can use in there."

They all clustered before the store's shuttered door. Vince drew out his gun and flipped it around so the butt of its handle was facing out towards the glass in his gloved hand.

Sam blinked. "You're breaking in?"

Howard smiled. "Sure. Executive powers. This is a rescue operation as of this moment.  
The owner's insurance will cover this. One more broken window won't matter much with parts of the mall already demolished by the slide."

He carefully tapped a place out near the dead bolt inside and smashed a hole large enough so he could reach in and open the door.

They rushed inside after not smelling any signs of natural gas indicator.  
Vince pointed. "Try the phone to reach your friends. If it's ground wired, it may still be in service internally even though the outside phone lines are down to the rest of the city. I'll look for an adjoining service door that may connect up with the vet hospital."

"Good idea." said fair haired Les. "Dave, can you go with them? This will only take a sec." he said, picking up the counter phone's receiver by the cash register.  
He began to dial out. "Let's hope this works. I hate not knowing anything like this." he growled.

"Join the party." Quincy mumbled, snatching up more flashlights, tarps and hand tools that would prove useful to them.

"Everybody on the double, I think I found an access!" shouted Vince.

"Is it a door?" Gordon asked as they all crowded around Howard in the darkness.  
Their flashlights eerily illuminated the sagging mud heavy ceiling tiles above them and a neat row of dripping water streams coming from the earth burying the mall.

"No. It could be a return air ventilation grill. I'm feeling blowing air and smelling animals through here."

"The power's still on in the basement?" Dave wondered.

"It's probably just the emergency generator. Places this big usually have backup systems that run independently. Even so, watch for fallen electrical wires and unplug anything plugged into the wall near your feet. Everything's wet." Vince cautioned. "I can't tell if somebody's pulled the master switch to cut off the mall's main power supply yet."

"Can't we do that to make things a little safer?" asked Sam.

"I don't know the best way into the basement from here. And besides, that would only waste time. The mud's probably already taken out the electricity on its own most likely." Howard guessed.  
"Let's hope you're right." Quincy said, handing Vince and Dave two crow bars to work against the air vent grill. "Or I might find myself in official business here."

"Boy am I glad I we ate so much food last night." remarked Marco as he and the others sped in Johnny's rover for the city of Rialto and Five Points Plaza Shopping Center. "We're gonna need it."

It was crowded in the rover with Roy, Brice, Sharon, Johnny, Stoker and Lopez.  
But nobody was complaining. Their minds were on the mud slide Chet had told them about over the phone from the hospital.

"Do you think they're still alive?" Sharon asked, worried about Dixie, Boot, and the staff at the animal shelter.

"Mud's heavy." replied Roy. "Once it's got you, breathing gets impossible real quick.  
Not so much from drowning but from suffocation. But they've have points in their favor." he told her honestly as a firefighter. "They were inside a strong building when it happened, on level ground. What mud there is, probably isn't very deep and it's getting thinner by the minute from all this rain."

Gage agreed as he gripped his steering wheel even tighter as they travelled the freeway quickly. "I'm definitely in the they-were-protected-okay camp, Sharon. That mall's got mostly steel girders in its makeup. We used to do rappelling exercises in its rotunda for rescue operations demos for the public. At best, they're buried from leaving just from the outside, trapped inside a room somewhere with the air getting a little stuffy. Nothing they can't survive if there isn't a gas l-" He bit his tongue at the last of his comment.

Walters gasped but remained quietly sitting at what could be reality for Dixie and the others.

Stoker provided moral support. "We grabbed a few diving tanks from my boat.  
We can release air into any space for over an hour each if we have to. And I can't see the vet's not having oxygen tanks in its surgical bays. We'll cope."

Brice shifted from his dozing spot underneath a pile of blankets. "What's our E.T.A?"

"About half an hour. If it were daylight." grumbled Gage. "In this storm? I'd say probably a good hour ten minutes away, barring obstacles."

The group of six fell silent as they mulled over their worried thoughts privately as the minutes ticked by.

Photo: Vince in his squad car at night.

Photo: Les Taylor and Dave Gordon from animal control, all muddy.

Photo: Quincy's coroner's wagon at night.

Photo: Quincy at night, looking worried.

Photo: Sam Fujiyama, looking doubtful.

Photo: Brice, Roy, Johnny, Marco, Stoker, Sharon in Gage's rover.

Photo: A giant mudslide on a hillside.

Photo: A yellow Five Points Plaza Shopping Center sign in Rialto, CA.

************************************************** *  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 )  
Subject: Baby Steps..  
Sent:Mon 5/06/13 2:14 AM Kel Brackett let himself into Chet Kelly's hospital room without preamble. His face was tighter than usual, not exactly in professional mode.

Chet Kelly and his sister startled out of their conversation over pizza. "Dr. Brackett.. what a surprise." Kelly simpered guiltily. "I didn't know I had any dietary restrictions."

"You don't." Brackett replied, crossing his arms over elbows in half contemplation,  
half irritation. "I'm missing a couple of nurses. Dixie and Sharon. Know anything about them?"

Chet set down his oddball breakfast self consciously. "On the first, no clue. But I have a working theory on where she is that the guys are checking out. On the second? I - I really don't think I should be talking about Johnny Gage's love life or about his new girlfriend. Heh."  
he chuckled nervously.

Kel leaned over the bed dangerously. "Off the record. Mr. Kelly, don't get me mad. You won't like it very much. Now, I've sent two people after MY girlfriend over an hour ago. An orderly just told me he overheard you talking about something bad happening at the shopping center vet hospital that Dixie was planning on visiting last night. If you know anything new about her that I don't know about yet, spill it! Pronto! And this is not doctor to patient. This is man to man."

Chet's sister gestured to the bed. "Uh, I think you'd better sit down, doctor. It's not nice news."

Dr. Brackett sat down on the mattress edge. "Sorry for snapping, you two. I get worked up when it comes to friends and family or a patient I know I can save. Okay, I'm listening."

Kelly sighed and moved out of grappling range. Then he spoke carefully. "That shopping center is being reported has having been heavily damaged by a mudslide."

Kel shot to his feet immediately. "And Dixie's there for sure?!"

"We don't know that yet." Chet told him. "I spoke to Roy and Sharon and the rest of the guys a bit ago about what I overheard on ham radio. So I sent them to Realto to poke around a little. Because both you and I know that all the emergency services are currently overwhelmed by other calls."

"U.S.A.R.?" Kel asked.

"Tied up." Kelly answered.

"L.A. City Police Department?"

"Busy. They say they're prioritizing responses to worst first. Like obvious life or death."

"A mudslide burying a shopping mall IS life threatening!"

"But it's not in their area of expertise. They're not equipped to handle it. That's U.S.A.R.'s and the fire department's territory."

Brackett began pacing. "And they're both in over their ears. Terrific." he growled sarcastically.

"I know. It seriously bugged me, too." Chet sympathized empathetically. "That's why I thought outside the box to get off-the-radar help over there as fast as possible. I was going to call you about Dixie once I knew one way or the other... Honestly.."

"Who's going?" Kel barked.

"Everybody from my shift who's off duty, except Cap.." Chet replied. " ..along with Miss Walters and Brice."

Right then the door opened and Joe Early walked in on his regular rounds. "Morning."  
he said cheerfully.

"No, it's not." grumbled Kel. "Did you hear about Dixie?"

"Yep." Early replied as he began taking Chet's vital signs for his chart.

"And you didn't tell me?!" Kel roared.

"I didn't need to. Kel, you already knew Dixie was going to pick up Station 51's dog." Early answered mildly. "She'll probably be back in an hour to pull one of the emergency shifts we need covered."

"Then you don't know." Dr. Brackett sighed, still charged up, but quieter.

"Know what?" Joe grinned, eyeing up the three of them.

Chet shoved the pizza box his way in a sympathetic open invitation.

Hungry, Joe picked up a gooey piece of pizza to munch on, dripping with cheese.

"Dr. Early, you'd better sit down." Chet's sister sighed again. "But... I wouldn't recommend eating for this. Not just yet." she said as she watched him chew happily.

Joe Early sat on the bed very quickly and started paying attention to the real matter at hand that went far, far past the usual business.

"Hank... Hank?" came a voice from a long distance. Captain Stanley turned in his chair, carefully holding the baby that felt so much like his daughter had so many years ago. It knew it was Emily, his wife, calling him, but he wasn't finished with his dream yet. "Umm ... I'm not through, Em." he sighed, still tired beyond exhaustion, despite a full night's sleep spent in the infant ward at Rampart. Even his shoe covered feet still trembled with unrested muscle fatigue.

Mrs. Stanley glanced up at the nurse. "Should we give him a sedative?"

"Nah." said the Haitan morning R.N. "Natural sleep is the best thing for stress. Let's let him be and keep our bad news a secret." she replied about Dixie's whereabouts.

Emily shifted uncomfortably in her seat, surprised that the staff grapevine was that fast and effective. ::I supposed it would be for me, too, with firefighters, if Hank or one of his boys went suddenly missing. And she's right.:: A small part of Emily's mind reasoned. ::Medication's not a refuge.:: Biting her lip in worry for the growing county wide disaster she was slowly learning more details about, Emily Stanley willingly decided to let her husband sleep on in peace. ::He really doesn't need to know about a close female friend in trouble. Not now. It's his own health that's more important at the moment.:: she concluded.

The door of the neonate intensive care opened, admitting Dr. Morton. Quietly, Mike nodded at Emily's family corner and padded over to the care nurse. "How was the baby during the night?"

"She did great." confessed the wizened nurse at the monitoring station. "I don't know exactly how, doctor.. But i-it's like they're healing each other for want of better words. I guess there's something very special about the power of human touch." she said, referring to the fire captain and the tiny sleeping infant wrapped in his arms. "Yes, she's a low birth weight, but I sincerely believe she's gonna make it now, doctor."

"Hmmm." Mike harrumphed in his throat. His eyebrows rose as he addressed Emily,  
with a question. "Improving a lot, eh? How's he doing, emotionally?"

Emily nodded with conviction. "This is the first solid sleep Hank's gotten since the hostage situation ended at the station,.. and the baby hasn't cried since my husband started holding her. A win/win for us so far. I know she's not smiling but at least she doesn't seem to be in such deep pain anymore."

Morton thumbed the clicker of a pen thoughtfully. "Not of the physical kind anyway. An emotional fallout will come much, much later. Maybe in a few unexplained kidhood nightmares?" he speculated. Slipping a few fingers under the baby's upper arm, Morton took a brachial pulse quality check on her to back up what he had seen on the EKG machine. "Nice work, you three." he said to both women and the sleeping Hank.

Two people grinned back at him sleepily as Dr. Morton made a final note on his chart and headed out the door. On a thought, he peeked back in. "Oh, uh.. Anything I can get for you ladies? Coffee? Food from the cafeteria?"

"How about finding the baby's father.." Emily shrugged, expressing the wish that wasn't a question.

"That's the toughie." Dr. Morton sighed. "I'm afraid everybody's really busy with the weather today if you know what I mean. The police just told me that finding a legal guardian for our orphan's been pushed to the very bottom of the list. I'm sorry. I don't have an answer to that request yet."

"It's okay. Really. We can be here as long as it takes, doctor. She's good for him."

"They're good for each other." Morton smiled. "See you later on. Thanks for staying."

Emily smiled back as she leaned her head against the back of her parental rocking chair. "Umm hmm." she hummed in affirmation. Then she closed her eyes to cat nap for a bit.

In the dream, Hank was in charge of a very controllable fire. In his barbeque. At a gargantuan mansion that he somehow knew to be his very own house. The grilling he had started suddenly smelled very, very good.

"How do you like your steak, Chet?" Cap asked, tipping up the rim of a sparkling white Battalion Chief's helmet that was on his head as he spoke through his shiny chrome HT radio.

"Medium rare." replied Kelly, through a solid gold HT as he lay on an inflatable raft shaped like a stokes stretcher floating in an ambulance shaped swimming pool. His station uniform was sooty with gun powder, but neatly pressed.

Hank grinned happily as he manipulated his meat fork to turn over the meal that he was currently roasting over hot coals.

Cap startled horribly when he found that he was stabbing a badly burned baby instead of a beef steak.

He screamed, dropping the fork, as both the pool and the baby began to boil a bloody red before his eyes.

Painfully sharp metal knives and black smoke filled his mind.

At his side, Emily watched as her husband's face twisted faintly in his sleep. Moving closer to his chair, Mrs. Stanley rested her soft head against his shoulder until his new shivering stopped. "Shhh, it's all right. It's okay. You truly saved her, Hank. She's right here with you. Right now. And so am I."

The baby cooed contentedly and it was only after Emily stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, did Hank's face slowly clear back down into true rest.

"It'll take time." whispered the nurse to Emily. "For both of them to accept what's happened. But in the end, they'll both be stronger for it." Then she began to sing a hymn from her old country. One that was both warm and comforting as it filled the room with its gentle beauty.

On the EKG monitor, the baby's heart rate dropped from autonomic newborn distress,  
into a health embracing slower rate, bathed in sleep.

A shattered avalanche of bricks cascaded into the veterinarian office's elegant lobby, opening a hole from the ventilation system through which the others had been crawling.

Coughing and waving away heavy dust from the air, Vince shouted. "Can anybody hear us?! Rescue party!"

"Yes. Finally. We need you!" shouted a voice through the silt scented, fetid darkness. "Over here!" shouted Dr. Barney Coolidge. "My assistant, Miss Patty Burns, has been hurt. I don't know how bad. I can't see anything. There's no light."

"Let me through.." Quincy ordered, shouldering past Vince with a black medical bag he normally used for housecalls for the living. "Dr. Quincy with Los Angeles County.  
I'm a coroner but I have a full medical doctor's license."

"Doc!" shouted Les and Dave at their boss. "How bad is she?" One of them tossed a lit flashlight into Quincy's hands as he climbed through the hole into the partially collapsed, muddy obstacle course that was the heavily damaged pet hospital.

"Please come in. Uh, er... excuse the mess, gentlemen. I don't quite know what happened." the vet replied. "I think I awoke already on auto pilot. I found myself binding her arm. It's a fractured radius and ulna from what I felt."

"She awake?" asked the blond haired Les Taylor as he lit up his boss's face with a torch. A rivulet of blood had dried down one of his temples but the rotund man didn't seem to be aware that he was also injured.

"Partially. She moaned a bit ago when that big noise happened." said the vet,  
who was slumped awkwardly against a wall where he had propped up his semi conscious secretary.

"That was us." Dave said. "We had to sledge hammer through a wall by hand."

Quincy squatted down by Coolidge, feeling the man's head with gently probing fingers. A warm wetness made him look at one hand. "You're bleeding. Probably a concussion. How much do you remember?"

"Uh, nothing. I think I was on the phone. What is that?" Barney squinted, trying in vain to peer through mud spattered and cracked round spectacles, pointing at something huge and brown at his feet.

"That, is an overturned, upside down examination table." Dave told him. "Just keep still and let the coroner check you out."

"I'm not dead yet. I felt halfway there earlier. Don't rush my burial." Barney snapped.

"Funny man. That's a good sign." Quincy grinned up at the others.

Coolidge winced as Quincy began to dress his head with bandages. "We're in the front office?" he frowned in confusion, still focusing on the twisted table.

"Yep. Doc, the mall's been crushed by a mudslide." Les said, leaning over to study Patty Burn's pale face while he took her pulse. "Looks like the whole back of the clinic's been caved in and pushed to the front. We're surprised we even found you two alive."

"Two? No.. that's not right." Coolidge murmured fuzzily. "We had a visitor just before the lights went out. She was playing with her friends' dog. He was about to go home.  
Boot, I think his name was."

"Forget the dog, Dr. Coolidge." Vince said, beginning to search the area with his own meager light beam. "What was your visitor's name. Can you remember? Was it Nurse Dixie McCall from Rampart Hospital?"

"Oh, yes. That was it. Such a soothing voice on the young lady. My patient, Boot, is quite smitten with her."

"I'm not seeing any sign of the dog or Dixie around here." reported Officer Howard, sloshing about in ankle deep, slowing rising mud. "This room's empty."

"Try the surgical bay. It's... it's to the side of us." Barney mumbled to his animal control officers. "The toys and TV are in there. I told them to wait out ...the storm."

Instantly, Les and Dave shot to their feet.

Quincy grabbed Taylor and Gordon's trousers with both hands to stop them. "Grab those shovels we brought before you go. I'll stay with these two and examine them closer for other problems past this bump on the head and fractured forearm."

Vince, Les and Dave departed into the darkness to Quincy's left. Gasping in the thin air, Quincy pulled out his own flashlight and buried its end upright into the mud to create a pool of light reflecting from the slurry soggy ceiling above them. Then he bent to work.

Sam stuck his head through the opening in the wall. "Quincy! There's no answer on the phone. Nobody even picked u- oh. You found them."

"Yeah, two of three. Do me a favor and go back to the wagon for three body bags. We'll use them as thermal regulators."

"Huh?"

"As sleeping bags, Sam. They're both ice cold from all of this water and mud. We've got to warm them up to prevent shock from setting in." Quincy said.

"Right. Hey, Quincy, can you quit using fancy terms? Plain language works much better."

"I thought I was talking plain language. Sorry, Sam. You know how my brain works. I'm an analytical type with dictionary recall."

"Yeah, well, start turning into a thesaurus." Fujiyama said, making sure his way back into the wall was free of steel rebar and sharp metal debris. "Today literal accuracy's not important. It's life or death now."

Quincy ignored his retort. He minced, feeling the secretary's carotid pulse. "Hmm, she's mostly out. But stable. Her breathing's strong and regular."

"Good thing. I'll be right back. Anything else you want?" Sam asked.

"See if you can scrounge up an oxygen cylinder or two from the surgical bay. The others all went to my left through a hallway. We'll be needing some if Dixie's been buried."

"Got it." replied Sam, with worry. Soon, Quincy was left alone with his muddy patients.

"Horse dryer." whispered Barney, rubbing his eyes with his hands to focus them.

"What?" Quincy asked, eyeing Coolidge when he spoke.

"Horse dryer. Big fan. Lots of heat. It can dry off our clothes like it does animal coats and fur." Barney said more clearly.

"Sorry, doc. All the power's out. That's partly why you can't see anything that clear. The rest of it is due to your poor bell ringed skull cap." Quincy shared.

"Listen to me. We've... our own generator. Just...turn it on. It's battery powered." he said more distinctly as he concentrated through his dizziness.

"Whoa, wait a minute. Really?" Quincy said, gripping Coolidge's sweaty face in both hands to help him focus on him.

"Why would I make this up? I'm a doctor." Barney chided. "Just carry us in there."

"I trust you. I'll be right back!" Quincy said eagerly, climbing to his feet to update his companions. He skidded away on the slippery floor. "I'm going to go tell the others. We'll move you guys and use it once we've found Dix-" The coroner broke off when he saw that Barney had lightly passed out, no longer able to hear him. "You just hang tight,  
Doc. Nobody's going to die here. Not if I can help it." he added.

Quincy disappeared into the dripping darkness.

Above them, thunder bubbled through the mud, its vibrations increasing the amount of silt and water flooding into the room, inch by inch.

In the surgical bay, Vince, Les and Dave were immediately challenged by a frantic, panicked barking. It was Boot!

"Easy, boy. Remember me from the other day?" Vince asked him, keeping his hands low and to his sides. "I'm here to help your girlfriend. Now where is she?"

Boot immediately whined, turned around, and starting digging into a knee deep pancake pile of thick mud pooling and oozing half inside and half outside of a pressure splintered cabinet. It was then he saw a pair of Oxford sandals sticking up out of the mud.

"Les! Dave! She's behind a cabinet on the floor in here!" Vince shouted, slipping to his knees into the slop as he began to desperately sweep around underneath the mud with both hands.

Taylor dropped the oxygen cylinder he was salvaging onto a counter top. Dave beat him there with a shovel. "Is her face covered with mud?"

"I can't tell." Howard grunted, trying to enlarge the torn hole in the cabinet.

Together, all three felt up her legs and sides until they were gripping slimy hair. Someone's flash light lit up still pink skin. "She's alive." said Vince. "And her nose and mouth are clean."  
Straining, the three of them slid their arms underneath her body, legs and head to try and pull her out of the cabinet space where she had been tossed by the slide. But the powerful suction of the thick hillside mud prevented them from budging even just an arm a single inch.

"It's like glue. Constricting all around her." Les realized.

"Is she still breathing?" Dave asked, seeing a sudden paling of Dixie's face.

"Not well." Vince reported, sliding a hand to feel her ribcage under the mud.

"We'd better hurry. She's being suffocated even worse every second." Quincy said, quickly joining them with the oxygen tank and a resuscitator mask. He had found one human sized. "I'll use a demand valve on her while the three of you shovel out this slop. If we're fast enough, we'll be able to drag her out into the open before it fills back in again."

"What if she's got broken bones? Isn't twisting her like that a little dangerous?" Dave worried.

"Without better oxygenation very soon, she'll quit breathing entirely. Being in a set of casts for a longer time or getting paralyzed is a small price to pay for surviving when you consider the alternative. Just dig. Dig hard!" Quincy said. "Or we'll have one very dead nurse on our hands in less a few minutes!" Quincy tried offering some forced breaths using the valve, but precious little got into Dixie's lungs where it was needed. "Hurry. She's dying."

Straining, all three officers slashed at the mud with their cement shovels. But as fast as they worked, the mudslide oozing in from the shattered back wall facing the cliffside, was even faster.

Boot even joined in, frantic for Dixie, in his pawing at the mud, to remove it.

"This isn't working. There's too much of the slide pouring in. We need to try something else." Les panted.

"Dilution!" came a voice from behind them. It was Sam. He dropped the neatly folded body bags he had been carrying as he slipped and slid his way next to Quincy to aid him in keeping a good seal on the oxygen mask around Dixie's mouth and nose with his extra pair of hands.

"What?" Quincy gasped, carefully working to get forced oxygen into Dixie's lungs without causing harm with excessive inflation. "Speak plain language, Sam. Or I'll-"

"Water it down. Make it thinner! Use the emergency fire hose in the wall."

"Like quick sand. She'll float to the top! Sam, you're brilliant!" Quincy grinned. "Keep a grip on her carotid. I don't want to lose track of that pulse."

Vince smashed the glass over the hose compartment, exposing the water valve and accordian folded loops of canvas hose. He jerked it out onto the floor while Les charged the line.

"Watch your eyes! And hers!" Howard ordered. Then he let loose a literal flood of clean water over where Dixie lay mired in the muck. The sandy mud loosened swiftly beneath questing shovels and the flooding water stream, freeing Dixie from her sticky entrapment.

Immediately, the demand valve was able to affect chest rise and Dixie's skin began to lose its bluish shade.

A very wet and muddy Boot began barking excitedly.

"Okay, okay. She's ventilating a bit. Let's get her somewhere out of the mud." the coroner said.

Struggling in the slime, the four men bodily lifted Dixie onto an intact surgical table with Quincy maintaining constant oxygen care at her head. Sam quickly returned to help him out.

"Cut this off of her. It's still too heavy!" Quincy pointed with his head at the mud glopped wool sweater she was wearing. "Dave, go grab that EKG monitor from the shelf. You know what that is?"

"Yeah."

Sam grimaced as they worked to keep their mechanical breaths working for the nurse.  
"How are we going to use that? Nothing's going to stick on her. Not through all this water and slime. There's motor oil mixed in with it." he said about the electrode pads attached to its wires.

"Alligator clips." Quincy improvised. "Like clothes pins. A vet hospital's full of them. Animals are too furry for the usual stickers hence those clips. We'll attach them to her fingers and toes. The reading will be a little exaggerated height wise, but I can live with that. Les, Vince, clean all the mud off her hands and feet and dry them off. Then put those clips on like I told you.  
Dave, when you're done turning the EKG's power on, go find something that looks like a defib. The doc has one, doesn't he?"

"It's over here."

"Lug it on over, I need to see the settings on it in case we have to use it."

"Is she that bad?" Dave fretted as he retrieved it.

"I don't know yet. She could be injured past getting squeezed to death by all the muck.  
I'm just covering the bases." The coroner answered truthfully. "I'll check her over in detail once we get her better stabilized." he gasped, sweating, while he worked to give oxygen to the nurse in time with her own weak attempts to breathe.

"Ambu bag trade out?" Sam asked, worried about pulmonary tissue damage from their mechanical oxygen delivery.

"No." Quincy replied. "She's probably aspirated some food or saliva or both into her lungs due to nausea from being knocked around. The stronger ventilation is what we want, to get oxygen through it. The demand valve's definitely better for her at this stage."  
Gordon set the vet defibrillator unit down between Dixie's knees on the table, powered it up and then turned the front of it to face Quincy so he could study the dials. "Damn. It's European. Their units of power aren't the same as ours. Amperes, joules, volts. What a mish mash. And DC power versus AC...Different current flow. Ah!" he snorted in disgust.

"Doc Coolidge will know which setting to use." Les said. "He's the one who bought it."

"Get him in here. I hate to move him. I left him dozing, but we need to seriously pick his brain."  
Quincy said. "Don't jar him unnecessarily. And keep his head up." Quincy told them.

"What about Miss Burns?" Dave asked. "We shouldn't leave her alone in the other room."

Quincy nodded his head. "Somebody should stay with her."

"I will." replied Dave.

"Put her on some O2. One fracture may mean more." the coroner told him.

"I'll go outside and start calling for help on the HT." Vince volunteered. "Holler if there are any problems."

"I'll call you on ours if that's the case." Dave offered. "Tach 3."

"Got it." Howard replied.

Soon, the a.c. officers had their boss placed in a tipped back chair leaning against an intact wall near Dixie's treatment table. Dave disappeared into the next room to put Miss Burns into a warm and dry body bag and to begin further care to treat her shock.

Soon, Les attempted to rouse Barney from his sleepy concussion fog.

Taylor knelt near Coolidge after he placed the vet under a flow of blow by oxygen to help him wake up. "Doc. Can you hear me?"

"Hmph?" Barney mumbled. His under eye pouches were already swelling black and blue from the effects of his head injury. "What's... what? Have we got a new patient?" he asked blearily.

Les knew he had to speak in terms of animals or confusion would complicate matters.  
"I've got a... chimpanzee. Weight 135 pounds. Age thirty five? Brought in with a heart attack.  
Pulse rapid but fading fast. I've got the defib set up for you. What setting do you want?"

Barney didn't answer.

Boot whined and came forward and he began to scrub a warm tongue over Barney's chilled face. Coolidge rallied at the familiar sensation and he weakily pushed Boot away with a smile.  
"Where were we?"

"Defib for the chimpanzee. Remember her size and age?"

"...yes.."

"What do I set for you to use, Doc? Can you tell me? We have to hurry. Things aren't good."  
Les told him into his ear.

"One watt equals one joule per second. Just turn to 400 j/s. Same as for a human." he shrugged, as if it were the most obvious answer in all the world.

"Thanks, Doc. You rest easy now. You've been hurt. I'll have you in a nice warm place before you know it." Les promised.

Sam stage whispered. "Don't tell him it'll be inside a body bag."

"I won't." Les hissed back. "Time to dry you off, Doc. I got you propped up under the horse dryer." And with that he turned it on and the whole room began to heat up with blood stimulating warmth to its far corners.

Quincy was concentrating so hard on what he was doing that he almost missed seeing it.  
"A PVC. Les, she's got something else going on. Take over. I'm going to have to look for it. I can't wait any longer."

Taylor took over Dixie's assisted ventilations smoothly. "What do you think it is?"

"I wouldn't have said something else if I knew the answer to that, now would I?" he said empathetically. He opened his black leather medical bag for a stethoscope and used it. "Tachycardic. Weak. Irregular. She's got to be hemorrhaging. She's far too young for cardiovascular disease."

"Where from?" Sam fretted, eye balling up the EKG that was speeding up ominously.

"We won't know that until we wash off all this oil and mud. Sam, go grab up that fire hose again. Fan it to scrub her down like an embalming prep. Then use those towels to wipe any leftover slime off."

Soon, Dixie's soaked jeans turned a very fast, dark spreading maroon by her left thigh,  
just above her knee. "There, Sam. Looks like an arterial laceration. Not the femoral,  
thank God. Most likely the popliteal. I'm going to clamp it off with a hemostat."

"Careful. You don't want to cut off circulation to the rest of her leg. That isn't cadaver tissue you're monkeying with." Sam cautioned nervously.

Quincy smiled. "Far from. It's even tougher than deceased flesh, fiber wise. Don't worry.  
I won't seal off the blood flow completely. Just enough to encourage a few large clots to form."

Les Taylor began to turn green. "Uh, not so many details please. Autopsies are my Achilles heel. It's why I work exclusively with animals. There's fewer similarities."

Sam noticed the animal control officer's wavering. ""Here, Les. I'll take over her ventilations again."

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Taylor. Just shop talk." the coroner apologized. "Now I wonder if there are any I.V. solutions about. A bag or two absolutely would be the cat's meow for all three patients of ours. I'll start hunting around for the pharmaceutical cabinet." Quincy volunteered.

"Needles are in the safe. I know the combination." Les reported as he bundled up Doc Coolidge inside of his morbid plastic and zipper seamed cocoon.

Quincy turned from wrapping up Dixie's clamped off leg wound. "The safe?"

Les looked a little self conscious. "Well, yeah. Doc always worries about some junkie coming in here and knocking the place off, looking for drugs and stuff."

"People can't use animal medications." Sam frowned.

"You and I know that, but they sure don't." Les said, about the junkies, smiling.

Quincy reconsidered his other female patient. "We should bring Patty in here where it's warmer, bone injuries or no. Being protected from the chill is more important.  
I just forgot the priority of that fact again, about living people."

Sam smacked him kiddingly with one of his free elbows. "Quit being such a dead beat."

"Shut up. I'm sixty four. I'm entitled to a few senior citizen brain farts every now and then."  
Quincy pouted, not offended in the slightest.

"I'll go get her, uh, but I don't think I can move Miss Burns by myself. She's bigger than I am." said Taylor.

"Sure you can." said Quincy. "Don't knock it. Body bags make great improvised stretchers. They slide across mud really well." shared the coroner. "Besides, Dave's available to help you. He's still with her, right?"

Right then, Dixie began to cough wetly underneath the ventilator mask Sam had pressing firmly against her face. He lifted it away. "Dixie? Dixie McCall? Can you hear me?"

"Suction, Sam! Suction!" Quincy urged.

"Oh, uh.." Fujiyama began to look desperately around.

"Here." Les said, reaching up to a suspended spring tensioned Yankauer tip and tube hanging above the surgical table. "This is it. Just cover the hole on the side with a finger to start the pull."

"Got it. Okay, roll her over onto her left side. I'll clear her mouth." Quincy said.

Soon, vomited food and some stomach acid were whisked away safely. Nothing more was found after a few probes with the suction tube placed a short way over her swollen tongue.

"Huh. She didn't aspirate. There's no blood tinging." Sam remarked happily.

"Lucky us." Quincy grinned.

"Lucky her." Les emphasized.

"Okay, let's roll her back. Pretend she has a spine injury. Keep her straight. Okay,  
one, two.. that's it. Easy." the coroner coordinated.

"Wake her up?" Sam suggested.

"We can try." Quincy agreed , reaching out with a few firm knuckles.

Dixie moaned at his sternal rub. A second one resulted in a total panic in her, from head to toe, as consciousness returned from the point in which it had been torn away, while almost drowning inside the heart of a mudslide. McCall began to flail mindlessly,  
still half out.

The EKG began to race wildly.

"Get a grip on her. Keep her from falling off the table." Quincy ordered. Then he bent close and began to offer some encouragement. "Dixie.. Dixie. Don't fight us. You're going to be fine. You were stuck under some mud but we got you out. So just keep calm and-"

The EKG suddenly began to flute a warning as Dixie suddenly stopped struggling, falling limp.

Quincy glanced at its screen. "...okay, not that calm. Sam? It's V-fib. Let's start CPR. Les, call for Vince and get Dave in here. We're going to need them for a full resuscitation."

"Quincy, we don't have any human meds!" Sam quailed. "What if her heart loses irritability?"

"I'm hoping for another really lucky break. A minute of compressions now, Sam. Let's get the last of her oxygenation circulating quickly. Then I'll try the three stacked shocks.  
It's the only chance we have to save her."

Les thumbed his mic. "Vince, get in here. Bring Dave. Cardiac arrest!"

##We're on our way!##

Photo: Brackett frowning in a hallway.

Photo: Chet incredulous in a body cast.

Photo: Morton smiling.

Photo: Emily Stanley worried, close up.

Photo: Cap sleeping.

Photo: A mudslide up close.

Photo: Sam Fujiyama, looking down worried.

Photo: Quincy, treating someone, wearing a stethoscope.

Photo: Doc Barney Coolidge, vet.

Photo: Les Taylor and Dave Gordon,  
animal control officers, muddy.

Photo: Dixie with long hair, looking sick.

Graphic: A flat lining EKG and saying,  
"Keep calm and.. okay, not that calm."

**************************************************   
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Subject: Of Bolts and Rivers Sent:Mon 5/06/13 12:36 PM

Fujiyama began to work on Dixie at once. Vince soon hurried into the room.  
"How long has she been down?" he said in shock when he saw that it was McCall who had suffered sudden death.

"A little more than a minute." the coroner answered. "Her airway's clear. Give her a couple of good breaths. I need time to figure these out." Quincy said, holding up a pair of very tiny gauze covered defibrillator electrodes.

Vince took up the demand valve ventilator and began to use it on Dixie deftly.

"Those are... for intrathoracic... access." Sam grunted as he kept up his C.P.R. "Are you going to crack her open?"

"Oh, gosh, no, Sam. I won't expose her to that kind of additional risk."  
Quincy cringed.

"Why not? She's already dead." Sam fussed, already growing tired.

"I won't expose her chest cavity to this kind of environment. Even if she survives cardioversion that way, she'll die later of massive infection. There'll be no cure possible. Not even after just a tiny half gram of this filthy mud gets in."

Sam gasped in frustration, missing one of his counts, skipping a beat.

"I'll take over, Mr. Fujiyama." said Les evenly. "I've got her." he said, continuing CPR. "Are you getting a pulse with my compressions?"

"Yes." Sam said sadly, after checking for one in her throat. "Sorry for lapsing. I didn't mean to falter like that."

"No problem. It wasn't for very long." Quincy murmured, his eyes still closed as he thought hard about a possible solution to their problem.

By their feet, Boot began to whine very loudly, distressed, fully understanding what was happening. Another human being was dying in right front of him. He began to howl in agony.

"Quincy, she can't wait." Sam urged. "You have to decide something. Something fast."

"Shh. Let me think." Quincy said. "Now about electrical differentiation. More conductivity over a larger surface area? Can it be that simple?" he mumbled to himself. "Golfers in a rainstorm! Sam! That's it!"

"What is?" Fujiyama gasped, shaking out his aching arms and hands.

"We'll make her more conductive to shocking intentionally! Soak her down with water. Lots of it! Right where it's needed. Then these smaller paddles will work like larger human ones! Just like lightning from a tree onto a golf course!"

Again the fire hose came out. Dave pulled back its lever and gushed a generous river across Dixie's sallow, blue, darkening skin.

"Everybody back out into the hallway. I don't want anybody else getting electrocuted!  
Take the dog, too. I don't know how far this current will carry through all of this ooze."

"What about your own safety?" Vince wondered, pointing at the ankle deep puddle surrounding the coroner's legs.

"I've got that covered! Just go!"

As soon as everyone was clear, Quincy reached out and pulled the last body bag onto the floor and leaped onto its dry, temporarily rafting, surface. Then he gave Dixie a countershock using her shoulder and lower ribcage like normal. McCall's body arched up as he had desperately hoped it would, then she noodled into stillness. The EKG monitor gave a blip, but it didn't last.

"Come on, come on..." Quincy grumbled, eyeing up his feet as water from the flooded floor began to well up closer to the edges of the outstretched body bag he was standing on. He made sure his muddy shoes were still surrounded by a full circle of dry vinyl before he shocked her again.

This time, Dixie gasped, and the heart monitor began to run out a healthy string of fast beats, irratic, but there.

Boot suddenly barked an eager greeting, rushing back into the room to lick the tips of what fingers of Dixie's he could reach by rearing up onto his hind legs.

"That did it! Her heart's beating again." Quincy celebrated, quickly pulling the oxygen mask back over the nurse's face to encourage her growing breathing attempts. "Just in time. My shoes are back underwater." Quincy shivered.

"She's got a strong pulse." Vince said, taking up her wrist.

"That she would. A shock that widespread made even her adrenal glands convulse. Natural fight or flight adrenaline always works far better than laboratory mixed ambulance grade epinephrine. I've been preaching that at paramedic conferences for years." the coroner grinned. "Wrap her snug now, and turn up that horse dryer. We don't want her to get chilled any further. Once she's warm and dry, get her into this. " he ordered, pointing down at the body bag that had saved her life.

Les and Dave nodded and located a set of clean, dry blankets to do just that.

Quincy slumped onto a surgical stool, eyeing up Dixie's pale face. A rosy color was just beginning to return to her cheeks as he strapped a lighter oxygen mask over her face. One that contained heated oxygen this time that she could draw from at her own pace. "That was close, Sam."

"Too close." his assistant agreed, double checking the contact fit of the alligator clips still dangling from McCall's toes and fingers one by one. "What if that hadn't worked?"  
he wondered.

Quincy put a finger to his lips and shushed him, slowly shaking his head. "Don't ever tempt fate like that, Sam. She's alive. I for one, don't want to see any clients in my office today. I'm too worn out. Now let's see to the patients we've been neglecting. Vince, could you keep an eye on her?"

"A close one. I'm not going anywhere. I know a whole station house full of firefighters who'll have my badge if I'm not found taking care of one of their own properly." he quipped.  
"I just spoke to them a few minutes ago. We've got three paramedics and a full set of advanced medical gear about fifty yards away. And they know exactly where we are."

"Dixie?!" came Roy's anxious voice as he sloshed through the hall with his stationmates and Sharon. Everybody in the surgical bay heard a loud crash, and then a curse after somebody male banged a shin on an unseen obstacle.

"She's got an adequate pulse now, so you can stop killing yourselves getting in here." Quincy reprimanded. "There're sharp pieces of metal jutting up along every foot of that ventilation shaft through the mud. Slow down!"

Taylor spoke up to the room at large. "Dave and I are heading out to go find an ambulance on our own. We'll lead them back here." And then they were gone, sliding past the gang still newly arriving.

"What's her status? She looks to be the worst of them." Gage snapped, sloshing rapidly over to Dixie to take a carotid count and breathing rate.

"She's.. comfortable." Vince shrugged with a smile.

"Wait a minute, you told us she was dying." Brice interjected, studying the EKG's readout in total disbelief. Dixie was in very stable sinus rhythm. Not to be distracted,  
Craig crouched down in front of the secretary to check her out thoroughly.

"She was. But not any more. The good coroner here got her going again about a minute or so ago." Howard said, nodding at Quincy.

Roy didn't get stressed out like the other paramedics in the room. He just asked the obvious question. "What got her into cardiac trouble?" he wondered as he began to look at Barney's pupils with a penlight from his shirt pocket.

"Who knows? I can't tell cause of death without doing an autopsy. Hypovolemic shock?  
Hypothermic cardiac conductivity supression with electrolyte imbalance issues? Your guess is probably better than mine, fellas, because paramedics deal with the living. Have at her." Quincy told them with a wave of his hands. "I'm going to sit down. As your official attending M.D., I'll just supervise from over here. I'm exhausted. Let me know if you want to know what I found on the three of them medical wise."

"We do want to know." Gage said, all business as he quickly examined Dixie from head to toe in a secondary survey, looking for other trauma issues past the fresh CPR bruising on her chest.

Quincy sighed wearily, just now beginning to shake with reaction. "On Coolidge. Brief black out, confusion, occipital contusion, non-depressed. Bleeding from the area is controlled. He's body core temperature deficient. On Burns, broken left U., with unknown etiology on level of consciousness. No obvious signs of other external injuries. On Miss McCall. Suffocation history, no blunt trauma evident, a lucky poke on that left popliteal artery lower lateral femur, no tendon involvement. Blood loss estimated at 1200 ccs based on initial vital sign readings. Brief airway obstruction was resolved, lungs are clear. Cardiac arrest duration three minutes twelve seconds. An adequate rhythm was restored after two shocks. Breathing recovery was instantaneous. Cyanosis was minimal during all crisis periods. She, too, is moderately chilled. Anything else?"

"Thanks." Roy grinned at him as the six of them got to work. "Help yourselves to hot coffee.  
Doctor? We brought some with us." and he tossed over a blissfully warm steel thermos Quincy's way. "There's enough for everybody who can have it."

"Me first. I'm thirstier." Sam said, snatching it out of the air neatly before helping himself to a generous cupful.

Stoker and Marco began to survey the room for other dangers that weren't already known.  
"The utilities are off. And there are no gas leaks." Mike reported, waving a hand held sensor around in the air.

"I'll double check this generator and see that it keeps going." Lopez offered.

Sharon Walters turned thoughtfully to Vince and the others. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired. We had to knock down half the mall to get in here." Howard told her.  
"Our arms are a little sore, but that's all."

Her face firmed up into decision as she took charge of the non-wounded.  
"Rest up. We brought clean clothes and fresh boots. Now go camp out under that ...that.."

"...horse dryer.." Dr. Coolidge piped up from under Roy's ministrations.

".. to warm up and dry off." Sharon finished without missing a beat. "And that's an order."

"Nurses." Quincy chuckled happily. "Gotta love em."

Photo: Roy treating someone in darkness.

Photo: Boot looking very happy.

Photo: Quincy and paramedics treating a patient on oxygen.

Photo: An animal hospital and dog pound truck.

Photo: An occupied body bag on a surgical table.

Photo: A broken power line on wet ground.

Photo: Marco and Stoker smiling in the bunk room.

Photo: Cars trapped in deep mud with wooden debris.

Photo: Sharon Walters grinning shyly in a close up.

**************************************************   
From: patti keiper (pattik1 )  
Subject: Taffy Sent:Tue 5/07/13 12:10 PM "Dr. Quincy. I concur.." said Roy as he straightened up from his examination of Coolidge. "It IS just a bump and small cut. Minor concussion. He says his vision isn't doubling up anymore." he said.

"I had thought you might." he grinned. "You're very sharp."

"I'll vouch for that assessment." Johnny teased DeSoto. "Now what's her story?" he asked Craig about Patty Burns, Coolidge's secretary.

"Shock, mostly. Her diminished L.O.C. is due to constant psychogenic fainting due to pain. She woke up on me twice, looking panicky, before hyperventilation knocked her out again. The arm fracture's comminuted." Brice replied.

"We can fix both those problems with some pain meds." Johnny told him.

"Nuh uh. Her pressure's too low for narcotics. It might be the best thing to just let her keep blacking out like this as a coping mechanism." Craig said, glancing down to where he had placed her on her side, within her insulating body bag. "Perfusion in that hand is bad enough as it is."

"How about a Bier block? Johnny wondered. "That's just a local."

Brice pursed his lips. "It's worth a shot."

Johnny turned to the others. "Dr. Quincy?"

"Yeah?" replied the older man who was nursing a steaming cup of coffee with both hands across the room as he played keep away with Boot with a free foot gleefully.

"Do you know how to do nerve blocks?" Gage asked the coroner.

"Nope. That's a skill more in an anesthesiologist's ballpark. I just know general sedation and the usual paralytics and a few cardiac stabilizers, same as you paramedics." he replied. "Sorry."

"Okay, uh.. do you have any suggestions on how we can handle Miss Burns for extrication?" Gage asked, thinking out loud.

The coroner didn't hesitate.  
"Rapid Sequence Intubation with Fentanyl as opposed to Etomidate, followed up by some epinephrine to dilate the blood vessels in her extremities to improve the status of that fracture. That way she's paralyzed, but with a favorable analgesic effect so she can start to get some rest."

"Tricky. That imidazole-derived agent is very short lived." Brice remarked.

Quincy met his eyes fully at that.  
"So? There's enough of us here to keep her under decently, and airway and breathing maintained. All it takes is one hand squeezing an ambu bag and the other suctioning out her mouth from time to time. What's more important? Her comfort or your convenience?" the coroner countered.

Craig had the decency to look properly chastened by an expert.

Gage fought to hide a smile. "Oo, looks like Brice has finally met his match."

Even Roy smiled. He glanced over Johnny's shoulder. "How's Dixie?"

"Trying to wake up, I think. She reacted visibly when I started her I.V." Johnny told him.

Roy grinned. "She sure does hate those things. I'm surprised she didn't try to sit up and punch your lights out. In that way, she's worse than Dr. Morton."

Johnny grinned crookedly, still coming down from being very relieved about Dixie's rapid recovery. "I've got her on a Ringer's, wide open, to replenish that lost blood volume. The coroner didn't object." Johnny reported.

"Mine's on a D5/NormalSaline, as a precautionary." DeSoto said.

"Same here." said Brice about Miss Burns. "Made sense, since everyone who's a patient is either a minor surgery candidate or suffering from nausea. Food, for them, is out, so a little glucose is definitely in."

Right then, their HT crackled along with Vince's. ##905 on emergency police band for Officer Howard.## came Les Taylor's voice.

Vince lifted his handy talkie. "Go ahead."

##We're on the freeway headed for Mt. Sinai Hospital. There are four ambulances there, off loading, according to their E.R.'s head nurse. We'll let you know when we've snagged one to come back with us to the mall.##

"I'll let them know." Howard promised.

Johnny held up his hand.  
"Vince, we don't actually need a Mayfair. We've got all the medical resources we need right here. We brought them with us. I'm sure those animal control officers mean well, but my Rover'll work just fine getting these guys to the hospital." Johnny said. "The sooner the better. All we have to do is improvise a couple of stretchers."

Marco Lopez and the engineer volunteered securing an escape route.  
"We'll climb up to an upper story in the mall and take a look around out the window to see if things to the south are still safe."

"Here. Take my radio." Vince offered. "I'm not going anywhere. You people are my current call."

"Thanks." said the engineer.

"I'll go with you." offered Brice. "I could use the exercise to get warmer."

Donning their rain gear, the three firefighters left the surgical bay slowly, carefully feeling the way underfoot in the rising mud, step by step, to keep safe.

Brice, Lopez and Stoker returned a short minute later, their faces paling at what they had seen out the windows.

The first thing they heard as they hurried back into their refuge, was Nurse Walters arguing with the room at large.

"What are we still doing inside of this heavily damaged building? I thought that kind of search and rescue option was seriously frowned upon in official fire department rules and regs." Sharon spat, angry at their lack of common sense.

Before Gage could explain the medical reason why, the floor beneath their feet suddenly began shuddering, its layer of thick mud quivering like shaking jello.

Brice decided that the best way to break very bad news was to share it quickly.  
"Feel that, Sharon? That's not your ordinary, garden variety, every day earthquake. Guys, we're in serious trouble. This whole hillside has decided to take the entire mall, and all of us, for a little ride down into the canyon." Brice told her. "We just found out that the whole block is moving on top of a giant river of mud."

"Well that sure solves the ambulance or Rover debate. We sure as hell can't go outside any more." Roy nodded empathetically.

"So glad I parked on top of the ridge." Johnny said in relief. "The surrounding parking lot's probably been smothered and ground underneath the foundation by now."

"Yep." said Marco. "We didn't recognize anything familar out there. Everything with asphalt's gone."

"And so's the county meat wagon." Sam said as he began to glare at Quincy.

"Oops. Sorry, Sam. I'm not a firefighter. I can't plan ahead like they do. I've tried."

"So where's the safest place going to be?" Roy asked. "All the main support beams holding up each mall level are most likely going to fail eventually."

"Right here, gentlemen." Vince told them. "From what I remember, the vet hospital wasn't part of the original mall design. It was a separate building that was tacked on at one end of it, as an after thought, to upgrade the city plan in later years. There are no sky lights or elevator shafts to weaken our infrastructure. It's all solid concrete, like a bunker."

"So we're lucky again." said Quincy. "But trapped. Like fishermen on an ice floe."

"But gentlemen, my secretary's arm can't wait. The swelling in that limb is getting worse by the hour." Coolidge argued.

"It is a bad break." Quincy agreed. "One that will need surgery A.S.A.P. or she'll lose the hand."

Medical frustration and a little fear started a verbal free for all.

"How about a chopper? Can't they pick us up, one by one.. from a...a balcony or something?" Sharon wondered.

"They're all grounded." Stoker told him. "They can't fly in storm conditions like this."

"Maybe after the storm's over." Sharon said, still off on her own line of thought.

"Maybe we can hike out somehow." Quincy offered.

"We can't go on the roof now. Not without getting fried by all that lightning." Roy said.

Craig was thoughtful and he agreed with DeSoto mentally. ::This is truly bad. This might be an ARKstorm like the news said. I can't remember the last time I've ever seen constant lightning like this lasting more than twelve hours in the same day. ::

Brice pitched his voice a little louder, more insistent. "Guys,... we have to think long term. This rain is not going to end in an hour or two. It's going to last more like weeks. I just remembered some history." Brice shared. "In January 1862, for thirty days and thirty nights, rain fell in unending torrents. Rivers of water ten feet deep flowed through the streets of Sacramento, and 29.28 inches of rain had fallen on San Francisco. The mining town of Sonora just east of here received 8.5 feet of rain over a 2-month period. The resulting floods inundated the Central Valley with a lake 300 miles long and 20 miles wide. And part of the shoreline of that, was in the very same canyon that's right below us."

"Precisely where we're heading.." Johnny groused, rubbing his face wearily. "Just wonderful." he said sarcastically.

Marco piped up. "Listen guys, we're firemen, we fight fire. How the hell are the five of us going to fight a flood of mud a whole valley wide?"

"We don't." Roy answered.

Johnny shot to his feet from the stool he had been sitting on.  
"Right. It's time to add our S.O.S. to the big pile of others." Gage frowned, lifting up one of the HTs lined up along the table. "This sliding thing has up'd the ante, so I'm going to pull out the a-brother-needs-help-now card."

Marco chuckled. "Neither Cap nor the chiefs are gonna yell at us for doing this. We're officially off duty on medical leave, yeah, but this is a biblical sized natural disaster, not a house fire. This could have happened to one of our own private homes anyway,  
by a look of the size of it."

Johnny switched from police to fire department frequencies. "Break. Break. Break. HT 51 to L.A."

## Go ahead, 51.## came Sam Lanier's voice. Its tone was curious, but calm. It was a very welcome sound to hear. One that generated a feeling of hope in spades.

"L.A., myself and nine other souls, including four other firefighters, are at the Five Points Plaza in Realto. I'm reporting that we are a physical danger risk. The whole mountainside has given way to a mudslide and our entire city block has been dislodged from its bedrock and is moving downhill towards the canyon. We've four casualties, all stable. We're safe for the moment but are in jeopardy and need immediate evacuation. Can you assist?"

##Stand by, 51. Referring your status to multiple incident commanders in your area.##

Sharon was puzzled. "Well what does that mean?" she asked.

Brice started smiling, really big. "That means that very soon, every firefighter known to man is going to be sent or will show up here on their own, even if they're wearing pajamas, to try and save us."

It was Quincy's turn at a shift to monitor Dixie, when she awakened.

"So this is the latest fashion in cadaver wear. Should have been a nice shade of yellow.  
Cheerier." she gasped through her oxygen mask.

"Guys." the coroner alerted. "She's conscious."

Getting to their feet, the others quickly circled Dixie's table, offering encouragement.  
Even Boot joined in, leaping onto a counter top, so he could see her better.

"Hey.. " Roy celebrated. "How are you doing?"

"I almost earned a halo today, huh?" McCall whispered, about the CPR bruise she started investigating on her chest with both hands.

"Not quite. All of us aren't through with you yet. Sharon said she doesn't want to take over and be head nurse at Rampart." Gage quipped.

"Liar." Walters joked, taking Dixie's hand.

Dixie began to laugh but it soon turned into a very real and ugly grimace of shock. "Am I paralyzed?" she asked. "I can't move my legs."

Horror washed through every single one of them.

Photo: Les Taylor, looking sad, sooty.

Photo: Dixie close up, quiet pose, long hair.

Photo: A freeway at night being drown by rain.

Photo: Sam Lanier at L.A. Headquarters.

Document: Californian government "ARkstorm scenario" study (pdf file).

Photo: Quincy, M.E., looking stunned.

Photo: Roy, devastated.

Photo: Brice, coated in mud, frightened.

Photo: A night shot of the Five Points Plaza mall sign.

************************************************** *  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Subject: Secondary Effects..  
Sent:Wed 5/08/13 11:50 PM

Unzipping the body bag down to Dixie's thick blankets, Roy uncovered both legs. They were trembling and goose fleshed, as if the nurse was cold. DeSoto felt her skin. "Your skin's warm enough. Can you feel this?" he asked, pulling out a pair of bandage shears from a nearby kit. He ran the tips of their blunt ends up the sole of one of her feet from heel to toes.

Dixie let out the breath she was holding with carefully controlled disappointment. "No. Not even a little bit." she croaked. Then she started looking around the room, still startled and getting her bearings.  
"W-What happened to me?"

"A mudslide threw you into a cabinet, we think.." replied Quincy. "..right before it buried you up to the ears. We had to work fast to get you out of it for ventilating." he admitted. "Do you feel any pain at all in your lower back?" he fretted.

"None. Not even a little bit. Am I hurt anywhere else?" she asked, with the first frightened tears beginning to leak out of the corners of her eyes from her growing sense of vulnerability. "There's got to be a good reason why I can't feel anything..*sniff* Even I know that."

The heart monitor began to sound out a tachycardia threshold warning with Dixie's rising anxiety level.

Johnny quickly slapped off the audible to end the distraction. "Shh, stay calm, Dixie. Breathe nice and slow. The oxygen's going to help."

"Oh, Dixie.." Sharon whispered. "Don't be afraid." she said, her lip quivering as she failed to hide her own fear. "We'll figure this out."

Sam Fujiyama had a chin in his hand and a thoughtful finger over his mouth as he thought hard about something. "Miss McCall what exactly do you remember happening before you woke up just now?"

Dixie coughed and struggled to concentrate. "Uh..I remember the storm.  
A ...loud clap of thunder.. uh.. Boot really yelped and started scrambling to hide. I think I started to crouch down to reassure him a bit when things went black."

Quincy's eyes suddenly lit up with energy. "Miss McCall, exactly where were you standing? This may be an important clue."

"I was ... uh,... over there by the-" she said, pointing. "Oh, the window's gone?!" she said with surprise, noticing all the structural damage surrounding her for the first time.

"Half the mall, is, too." Johnny interrupted. "Look, Dixie. Never mind about that for now. Just try to focus on the question." he said, frustrated. "We have to figure out how why your legs are numb here."

It was Mike Stoker who spotted it. "Hey, guys.. Look at the TV set. The screen's glass has turned brown and its cabinet's been partially melted."

"We had a fire?" Marco asked, smelling the air. "I don't smell any smoke."

"No..no! Not a fire." Quincy said, leaping to his feet. "Lightning!" he said in excited discovery. "It all makes sense now. Both her sudden cardiac arrest for no apparent reason at all and her initial poor breathing attempts. Now these unexplained muscle tremors. Initially we thought her ongoing dypsnea was because she was getting crushed by all of that mud! But that wasn't the real cause at all. It was because her muscles were still seizing from left over,  
residual-"

Sam was still putting pieces together. "Electrical shock which had come down through the rain, through a mudslide shattering window, down the antennae wire, and out the boob tube."

"Right into Dixie."  
Quincy snapped his fingers with the diagnosis. "Keraunoparalysis. It's the only thing that makes any sense here, fellas. That mud's far too soft to have caused any spinal damage, even if she was flung into it from across the room."

"If so, then there'd be spidering." Brice added.

"Yes." Quincy agreed.

On a thought, Roy took out a gauze pad and soaked it with his water bottle. He used it and began cleaning off the large patch of dried blood around Dixie's clamped off leg wound to expose the skin underneath. Seconds later, he found the telltale markings.

Thin, faintly red and feathery. Like a fern. "There they are. Lichtenberg figures.  
They've already mostly faded away." he said, tracing across a few of them with his fingers.

"So I was zapped both by G*d and a defibrillator today. Is my hair curly?" Dixie tried to joke. But the others were too busy feeling relieved to notice. But she was smiling big, under her O2 mask, right along with the rest of them. ::I'm only going to be crippled for a couple of hours until my nerves sort themselves out.:: she thought, suddenly very groggy. ::When I can wiggle my toes, I promise I'll celebrate with a very large, hot, cup of c-.::

Sharon covered Dixie up again for comfort and watched as her exhausted boss fell quickly asleep. Slowly, the EKG monitor settled into a normal resting pace.

On the other side of the room, still taking a ventilator shift on the ambu bag for the sedated secretary, Marco glanced up at Roy, as he bagged the woman's oxygen in and out. "Is Dixie going to be okay? I thought she was awake for moment there."

"Yeah, she will be. And she was. She just scared us for a moment with secondary complications that're gonna be only temporary." DeSoto said. "Speaking of which, are you noticing any on our patient here?"

"She's fine. She's not popping around her ET or trying to gag. And her pulse's still the same steady rate she had when you guys first intubated her." he reported.  
Then he leaned forward without missing a beat on the hand squeezing breath deliveries to whisper confidentially in Roy's ear. "Was this really the best thing to do for her?" he asked, shrugged a shoulder down at Miss Burns.

"Yes, it was absolutely the right decision, Marco." Roy told him as he double checked the status of her breathing tube with a stethoscope. "You see, she wasn't handling the idea of being injured very well. Even with just that broken arm. Some people can't deal with blood or bumps and bruises on themselves without freaking out. They're born high strung. What we call nervous types. She happens to be one of those. If we hadn't have done anything, she would have eventually worked herself into a deeper shock and into life threatening trouble if we hadn't detached her mind from the rest of her."

Lopez rubbed some dried mud off of his nose that had been itching him.  
"I guess I'm not used to the finer points of aggressive emergency treatment yet.  
It didn't seem like her broken arm was enough to warrant full life support like this." Lopez shared, his face half worried, half thoughtful.

Roy guessed that Marco's empathy was a little on overdrive, a souvenir from their nightmare hostage situation from the day before. He kept his face gentle.  
"Let me let you in on a little secret." Then it was Roy's turn to lean in to Marco's ear. "Everything a paramedic does is life support. It's just a matter of how much and to what degree until a doctor or a surgeon at a hospital can take over to permanently fix all of the problems." Then he looked at his watch and turned to inject another dose of Fentanyl to the secretary's I.V. a few seconds early. "Hang tight. Stoker will be over to relieve you at this in five minutes." he said as he stood back up again. "Then you'll be able to shake some of those cramps out of your fingers. Try using both hands bagging, it's easier for long term resuscitating."

"Okay." Marco said on auto pilot. He was still looking and feeling very responsible for his patient's well being, so Roy gave him an encouraging pat on a shoulder before he moved on to check up on the veterinarian's progress.

Craig Brice sat down next to Johnny Gage at the radio table. "So. This is new. " he shrugged, about the mud jello quivering floor as they were carried inch by inch downstream by the massive mud river writhing beneath the foundation. "What do you think our chances for survival are?"

Johnny had the decency to be honest.  
"I haven't a clue. Aren't you the usual walking book of statistics and procedures?" he teased with a grin, as he double checked the volume remaining on the spare oxygen tanks lying on the table in front of them.

Craig pulled a blanket around himself to keep a little warmer. The circles under his eyes were a little darker, but the vitality he had was still unwavering. "I can't say I've ever gone down a hill using a building as a sled. So I can't even begin to guess on those odds."

"Ah, now that's the gist of this, Brice. That's a paramedic skill you seriously need to work on."

"Oh? And exactly what skill am I lacking?" he grinned, accepting the challenge by casually lacing his fingers onto the table top. It felt good reviving some friendly rivalry.

"Guessing on things. I've been trying to tell you that for years." Gage said.

Craig rubbed his red eyes wearily with a few knuckles as he picked at some pack food. "I've always thought that being accurate, using known facts, was more important than theories."

"Oh, they are. But just look at us. Here. Right now. Brice, we don't have any facts. Just what we can see and hear and feel with our five senses. It's kind of invigorating,  
you know what I mean?" he said, taking in a huge cleansing breath.

Brice squinted at him like he had sprung a third eyeball. "You're still feeling the effects of post traumatic stress disorder. Come on, Mr. Gage. Euphoria in the face of mortal danger? We might all die." he said empathetically. "And all of this doesn't bother you?"

"Yeah, it does. It does. But in this case, we won't see it coming if death comes. It's nothing like having a loaded gun pointed at you. That's liberating." he said with fierce passion. "I'm feeling quite alive and that may just be enough to save my butt, or my ability to save somebody else's, on some life or death snap decision later on." he pointed out, still smiling. Then he noticed Brice's face. "Don't worry about the logic of it, Brice. You'll never figure it out until you've lived through exactly the same thing we did." concluded Johnny as he methodically grabbed out a peanut from Craig's snack pouch to munch on.

Mike Stoker was busy improving a trio of stretchers made from unassembled animal crates and cages. "Hey, Doc." he called out.

"Yeah?" Barney Coolidge replied, opening his eyes from the light doze he had slipped into.

"Can I use your block and tackle and the chains from your livestock Hoyer lift to make a few stokes web slings? I think we could use it to get out of here."  
said the engineer.

"Be my guest. I really don't think I'll be saving anything from the office once Mother Nature gets through with it. I'll be happy enough with just my skin thank you very much." the vet replied.

Bark!

"Oh, and Boot's." he added, welcoming the dog into his lap as the shaggy mutt began to wash some blood flakes off of his face with a busy tongue. "It's hard to believe this dog's really not a bitch."

"A what?" Sharon Walters exclaimed from her seat by Dixie's table.

"A female dog." Barney shrugged scientifically. "He treats people as if they're his puppies."

Roy started laughing. "Yep. You should see him as a tracker for search and rescue calls. Cap's taken advantage of that female quality more than once."

"Speaking of Cap..." said the engineer as he tinkered, "I wonder how he's doing? I can't help thinking about what he might do once he finds out about our situation here."

Gage scoffed in non-surprise. "Don't even think about it. We already know what he'll do."

At Rampart, out in the hallway, Hank was pacing, and livid. "I can't even keep my eyes off of them for one G*d d*mned day." Cap fumed.

"Hush, Hank." Emily gestured, embarrassed for the scene her husband was making.  
"You know, sometimes I think you're a mother to them more than I am to our own children." she giggled, placing her hand on his chest to feel its vital warmth.

"Is that such a bad thing?" he said affectionately, pulling her to him and into a snug bear hug.

"Only if yelling about it truly makes you angry." she replied. "There is a difference."

"I? Yell?" he smiled, fully knowing that he did so, quite frequently.

"Mmm hmm." she grinned up at him in their embrace. "When you don't get your way,  
when you want your way, when you can't solve a way..."

On that last one, Cap opened his mouth in mock amusement. "I do not."

"Sure you do. Just ask your family of firemen." she teased.

Hank's face fell then, right into a very rare emotion for him, one of doubt.  
"That's if I get a chance to see them again before something b-"

"Shhh, now that's no kind of talk to come out of the premier fire captain of the line.  
One of Station 51's few... The proud... A- shift!" she mocked with amused heroism and a mock muscle curl.

It was Hank's turn to be embarrassed. "Shh. Are we loud? Yes, I think we're being loud." he said, as he hustled her into Chet's room that they had been standing in front of while they talked.

"Kelly!" he snapped.

"Cap, I-" Chet simpered.

"Can it! What I think doesn't matter. It's what you do that counts in every way possible if we're going to bail out their idiotic butts. The twits.." he growled. Hank snatched up the ham radio from a shelf that was not in the very center of Chet's bed tray stand where it should have been and turned it back on to full volume so he could hear everything that was transpiring on the Citizen's band. "I'm just as mad as you are that I can't use fire department radio traffic channels, but that's not going to stop us one iota."

Chet's head did a double take. "It's not?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Nope. Get your clothes on. You're sneaking out of here to our car in five minutes."

"What?! Uh, I mean, yes, sir, Cap. Glad to. A wild herd of horses couldn't keep me away."

"As if we didn't have enough already." Hank mumbled, about rules and regulations and mandatory medical leave stipulations following crisis incidents.

Chet's sister was grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, sir. Thank you for letting him be the juvenile delinquent he always is. You won't regret it."

"Huh? Oh. It's just part of a firemen's creed. I'd take a nut from the nuthouse if it meant more hands and manpower on this job."

"The doctors and nurses here might call in the security guard." Chet warned.

"They can hang it!" Cap said, slapping down an early discharge risk waiver.  
"Scribble away. Then finish getting your clothes on. Oh, and steal a few patient gowns. We may be needing those."

"Perish the thought." Emily chided him, wide eyed.

"It's for disguise, Em. I can use Chet's bruises to get through restricted areas. Okay, Chet. From the beginning. What have I been missing and what do you know so far?" Stanley ordered. "Ah, ah, ah. Don't stop. Keep changing." Then he turned to Chet's sister. "And you, keep packing." And back to Chet. "Then tell me on the way. We're headed out to the I.C. covering them." he promised.

Chet Kelly hurried even more. "What snapped you out of your funk, Cap? It's like you're a different man this morning."

"It's the idea of getting back to work, Kelly. That's always been the only thing that can heal us when we're down. A certain baby we both know reminded me of that just when I had nearly forgotten the obvious, following a nasty dream."

Emily was curious. "A moral to the story?"

"Yes, and from now on, I think I'll avoid BBQs, love." Cap said about his dream.

"Don't we always?" Chet misunderstood, thinking of what firefighters make as a top goal to do while fighting fires. "Come on, let's get going, Cap. I can't stand being kept separated from them any more."

Photo: Stoker and Marco looking down with concern.

Photo: A mudslide pouring out from under a road.

Photo: A stokes stretcher and cargo webbing.

Photo: Gage looking exasperated.

Photo: Brice looking bugged.

Photo: Cap taking charge at Rampart.

Photo: Emily Stanley looking pleased.

Photo: Chet in awe, seated on a bed.

Photo: Roy and Dixie, matter of fact, with coffee.

Photo: Marco kissing Boot's face.

************************************************** *  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Subject: Wolf in Sheep's Clothing..  
Sent:Thu 5/09/13 9:23 AM

Dr. Brackett burst into the doctor's lounge, mildly surprising Dr. Morton as he grabbed the rare break in spite of the heightened disaster status that was making Rampart Hospital hustle. "Mike, there you are! I've been looking all over for you."

"There is such a thing called an intercom page. Are you afraid of the operator's sullen mood this morning? If so, I understand your reluctance. She nearly bit my head off over the phone a while ago when I-"

"There more emergency patients to see." Brackett told him.

"I'll get right on it." And he started to rise in his seat, still chewing the single bite of his sandwich that he had managed so far. "And by the way, have you heard about Dixie? They found her injured at the vet's. She's stable now. But she's still inaccessible and trapped on a-"

"Whoa, Mike. Wait a minute." Kel said, his face suddenly filled with concern. He reached out and grabbed touch his arm in support. "Are you feeling okay? You know, t-they were right, you do look kind of peaked. You look like you have a fever. One that's pretty high." he emphasized, reaching out a back of his hand to feel Morton's forehead. "I think you should get out of here and go home before you get any of our patients sick." Kel said, snatching up Mike's white coat that he had taken off and hung up so he could go shower after lunch. "I'll just keep hold of this until you get back."

"What? Kel, I'm fine. Are you off your rocker? Did you hear anything I said to you just now?!" he asked with incredulity.

"I ... know I agree that you're not in any condition to work at the hospital this morning because you're in no condition to be here." he emphasized significantly with a very leading subtle, head tilt that meant he was hinting something he couldn't talk about.

It was Morton's turn to tilt his own head in puzzlement at his boss. Then the light dawned and his face grew dead pan serious. Then he flipped his back to the security lens in the ceiling so his face couldn't be seen. "Do you mean to say that you managed not to authorize one of us to go out in the field to attend victims in a triage around the hospital administrators?"

Kel Brackett blinked once, without changing his feigned professional look of medical concern for the security camera's benefit. "You're sick. I just noticed.  
You're my attending resident, aren't you? You have to do everything I say. Especially when I tell you that Chet Kelly is out there waiting for you to give you a ride to your destination safely so you can get some time to re-cov-er." he hinted again, strongly, about whom he actually wanted recovered A.S.A.P.

"Right." Mike almost grinned gratefully, but quickly he faked a cough and put on a green looking face in practice for the tapes that an administrator would probably be reviewing later for Brackett's disciplinary meeting. "See me out, staggering to the parking lot?" he said, heading for the door.

"This way, doctor." Dr. Brackett said, taking his arm as part of the act. "Here, let me help you walk." The door swung shut behind the two doctors in cahoots. Snick!

Chet Kelly felt a strong tug as something strong ripped away the package of patient gowns that he had been concealing under his arm as he started to get into Cap's family car out in the pickup lane.

"You are so busted, young man." said Dr. Morton, holding the bundle of hospital clothes to his chest.

"No he's not." countered Cap, rising out of the driver's seat into which he had been half way seated. "He's out legally."

"Here are the carbons." Emily insisted, holding them out.

"Relax, guys. I'm on your side." Morton grinned. "Kelly, these'll work far better for a disguise if I'm part of the accessories, don't you think?" he said, pushing the gowns back into Chet's arms. "Welcome to my emergency hospital evacuation vehicle.  
Here, Mr. Stanley. Put this permit on your dash. It'll move mountains for us."

"Ooo, please. Not that analogy." Hank grimaced.

"Sorry." Mike shrugged.

Chet opened the rear door and said. "Move over, sis. This man's coming with us."  
-

Joe Early and Kel Brackett were already deep into the care of a triage patient in the E.R.

"Did he get sprung?" Joe asked, keeping his voice low.

Brackett admired his handywork without looking at Early as he put in a few more stitches to a chest wound. "A bit under the table, but yes."

"Ouch. That D.A.'s gonna hurt." Joe said, holding one of the stitches down with a sterile gloved finger so Kel could tie a knot in it with his suture holder and needle.

"Oh, well. Such is life. She's more important to me than any untarnished career record than I can ever hope for. Thanks for covering for me so I could get to Mike." Brackett sighed, unrepentant.

"What are friends for? Somebody's got to snip through the red tape around here." he said, cutting off Brackett's thread neatly with a pair of sterile scissors.  
"All of us are in enough of a strangle hold as it is with this ARKstorm thing going on. I just hope the hit you're going to take pays dividends."

"Oh, it will. Mike's quite the bull dog. He'll get to her." Kel breathed with confidence.

Dr. Morton's naval lieutenant days were paying off at the emergency cordon along the service road leading to Realto's mall area. "Listen to me, officer. I deviated off my route because this man needs care now. It can't wait. All our ambulances are tied up. He's got a lung wound that's barely sealed. I just noticed it's bleeding again and we don't have time to make it to our new hospital. Do you want to be responsible if he dies because we were held up at a yellow zone check point?!"

To emphasize that point, Cap slapped an H.T. radio he had with him, that Emily had stuck in her purse, across his chest with its police band volume turned up loudly.  
"They're waiting for us. The surgery tent in triage's all set." he said.

"Thanks for the update, Hank. Well, what's it going to be, mister?" barked Dr.  
Morton in his best irritated tone, completely devoid of bedside manner.

Chet chose that moment to moan and dribble a little bit of left over bloody spit from where he was slumped, head bend backwards.

"Please! He's dying!" Chet's sister wailed.

The officer made a disgusted face, backed away, and waved to his men to move the striped barriers so Cap's car could get by and through to the official disaster area and triage.

"Let's move out!" Mike shouted, pretending to hold Chet's head in a secure airway move, with a hand under his chin.

Hank peeled rubber and the car shot past the barricade. Soon, it was deep under the cover of the rain.

Once hidden from view, the five began laughing uncontrollably as they parked in with other cars and stand by emergency vehicles.

"G*d, I can't believe that worked." Morton chuckled. Then he turned to Chet,  
handing him a kleenix with which to wipe his mouth. "How the h*ll did you manage to cough up blood? I thought Kel said you were pulmonary fit."

"I am. I bit my cheek to get that. Ow.." Kelly grimaced, feeling it with his tongue.

"Here's an ice pack." Mike said as he rummaged around Cap's first aid satchel.  
"So who first, captain? The head of triage or the head of incident command?"

"We already know Dixie hasn't been rescued yet so the triage stop is out. You're going to see the man in white himself since I can't. He's the one who will have the most updated information about Five Points and its victim statuses. I'll fill you in on the lingo and what to say and ask so he'll take you for being credible enough to waste his valuable time." Cap promised.

"What can we do in the meantime?" said Emily for herself, Chet, and his sister.

"Roam around the green area of Triage. See if you can get other details about what's happening, find out how and when a rescue on the mall is going to occur. Firefighters, EMTs, and paramedics are your best choices with whom to talk."  
Hank shared. "Stay clear of any fire captains. Especially you, Chet. You're bound to be recognized as still being on the injured list and unauthorized on scene." Cap said.

"Well what about you?" Chet asked. "They know you directly."

"Me? Oh, I'm just the guy hanging around the communications tent with my radio geek H.T. in hand. See? Don't I make a handsome enough resident fire buff?" he said, quickly tying a red bandana around his head.

"You're quite the hippy." Emily said, kissing his cheek.

"Okay, everybody out!" Cap replied. "Meet back at the car in half an hour with everything you've found."

Dixie woke up, choking, unable to breathe.

The feeling of suffocation had returned mercilessly. She moaned, trying to gasp in air, but she couldn't.

"Johnny? You guys. Come over, here. Quickly! Something's changed." Sharon warned the others. "And it's bad." She said, tipping Dixie's head back to help her open her throat.

"...ugh..ugh..." McCall snored ineffectively, her breath only hissing out of her mouth.

Roy, Quincy and Gage rushed over to her side.

Quincy felt around her voice box with his hands while Roy listened to her chest with a stethoscope. "It's not an obstruction, there's no tension here."

"No, it's not." DeSoto replied. "She's wide open. She's just not breathing."

Johnny snatched off Dixie's oxygen mask and replaced it with a working ambu bag. "Dixie. Don't fight it. I'm giving you oxygen manually."

Dixie felt the cool breath go into her twitching lungs and her hands stopped crawling on the table. But she blacked out at the next cramp.

The cardiac monitor began to show artifact even though the rhythm hadn't changed.

The coroner felt a little lower down to her abdomen. "Spasming. It's her diaphragm."

"Left over from the lightning?" Sharon squeaked in fear.

"Yes." Quincy said. "A muscle relaxant's needed." he said.

"Diazepam?" Roy offered.

"Ten mil. Make it I.V. push instead of I.M. It'll take effect more rapidly that way." the coroner agreed. Then he turned to Johnny. "How does she feel lung wise?"

"Tight. But both lungs are still inflating okay." Gage replied, gingerly squeezing the bag.

"That's a false sign. Watch her color for your perfusion determination. Bronchial spasming will prevent oxygen from reaching her blood until the medication starts to take effect. If she goes cyanotic, hyperventilate." he shared. "If she keeps on occluding like this, we'll try a bronchiodilator through a nebulizer."

"Right." Roy acknowledged. He began to set up Albuterol, too.

Brice tapped one of Dixie's eyelids to make sure she was still out before he placed an oral airway over her tongue. Then he assisted Johnny and provided suction when it was needed in between delivered breaths.

Soon, both medications were in. But the tension remained.

"What now?" Sharon asked.

"Now? We wait." Quincy replied. "And we begin to hope and pray the interventions work before she suffers fatal cardiovascular collapse."

Photo: Johnny ventilating a victim in a small space.

Photo: Dr. Morton by a chart holder.

Photo: Two ambulance attendants outside.

Photo: Cap on a biophone.

Photo: Brice without glasses, looking worried.

Photo: Quincy with a stethoscope in his ears.

From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Subject: Taking Toll...  
Sent:Fri 5/10/13 12:28 AM

Sharon Walters wilted onto a box that was still above the level of the mud and finally gave into tears. The men in the room gave her some privacy by pretending not to notice what she was doing. She sobbed silently until a warm weight on her lap made her look down. It was Boot. Whining in distress, he curled about himself in her lap and quickly into a miserable little ball as he laid his head down on top of her mud encrusted hands. He was breathing harshly in his anxiety about the hurt people surrounding him who didn't seem to be getting any better.

"Oh, Boot." she whispered. "This has been one h*ll of a day, hasn't it? I'm so with you. I just can't take it anymore." she sniffed, falling to pieces helplessly as she stroked his limp tail.

Johnny Gage wasn't one to ignore someone else's pain. He passed off Dixie's breathing care onto Vince and joined Sharon on her private box. He noodled in behind her skillfully and wrapped his dirty arms around both her stomach and Boot without saying a word. Then he kissed her once on top of her head and leaning his chin there protectively with closed eyes, he let them both cry.

Slam! went the last of Cap's car doors as the five of them met secretly under cover.

"Time to compare notes. Can anybody trump my finding out that all U.S.A.R.  
personnel are unavailable to assist with the Five Points incident?" Hank began.

"I can." said Emily. "A paramedic said he spoke to a pair of animal control officers who had been in the vet hospital before it was torn off the mountain. They had the unit call sign, 905 Wild. Does that ring a bell?"

"Oh, yes. It sure does. These two first met Johnny and Roy when they snuck a goat into Rampart for a little open heart surgery. I had to run interference for the chiefs once the hospital administrators caught wind of that little stunt the next day. Believe me, I wasn't happy." Hank recalled.

"Where are they now?" Dr. Morton asked. "Maybe we can pick their brains in reverse and get the I.C.'s mindset on all of this and save ourselves a whole lot of trouble."

"In the canteen." Chet replied. "They figured that telling Command what they already knew and experienced might help bring about a decent rescue plan.  
They sure weren't pleased to hear that there was no way back for them. I didn't stay long because I didn't want to get found out."

"Don't worry. I'll be your shield." Mike promised. "Let's go."

Soon, the five of them had grabbed food trays and nonchalantly took places surrounding Les and Dave, who were so tired where they sat dozing on chins and elbows, that it took a fairly loud throat clearing cough from Hank, to get their attention.

"Hiya fellas. You don't know me, but you were with my men at the vet's. I'd sure appreciate it if you could share a few things about how they're doing. I've been worried sick."  
Cap said honestly.

Dave didn't even blink at the shocking red bandana tied around Cap's head. "Hello,  
Mr. Stanley. No need to hide. Everybody knows you guys are here. And they don't care."  
Then he pointed to the news camera crew aimed in their direction who was also beaming a signal onto a TV set that the publicity officer had up and running. Below the live feed was a caption, 'Captain of the famous Station 51 Hostage Crisis At Five Points I.C.' "

The five of them gaped in shock and immediate embarrassment. Only Emily saw the humor in it and her laughter soon rang out. Cap reached up to pull off his disguise.

Les started chuckling. "Oh, no. Sir, please. Leave it on. It's amusing all the laid up first responders. The I.C. here said it was helping immensely with morale across the entire county, watching you slink around, trying to hide, while going after tidbits."

"I hate technology." Cap murmured.

"No, you don't." Kelly countered. "Tell the truth now. Engine 51 is true posh."

Dave grinned. "Ah, there's nothing like the speed of the press for sharing news. You should have gone to them first to get all of your information."

Cap glowered and waved an impatient hand. "Can you tell us what we want to know?"

"Dixie suffered cardiac arrest but was converted successfully." Les reported.

"What was the cause of it?" Morton asked, his mouth agape.

"We don't know. We left for help before they had it figured out." Taylor replied.  
"She did have a fairly bad cut on her leg. Mr. DeSoto said that she had lost a lot of blood. And some kind of surgical tool was being used to stop the bleeding."

"Those kinds of arrests are easy to turn around once you replace a little fluid volume." Morton shared, letting in some relief and confidence into his tone of voice.

"I sure hope so. She didn't look good at all even after she regained a heartbeat and breathing." Les said. "Her eyes still looked kind of empty."

That shut Morton up into silence as he shouldered the burden of the news that he would have to tell Kel Brackett. ::Brain damage?:: he wondered to himself.

But the others didn't catch that observation. They were talking animatedly about options and possibilities when it came to a game plan to get the Five Points trapped victims to safety.

Mike Morton excused himself to go to the communications tent to make his first initial radio report to Dr. Brackett through the county fire department dispatcher.

##Rampart Hospital. This is Dr. Brackett.## came Kel's voice through a radio that an emergency crew had lent out to him.

"Kel, I'm afraid it may not be good news." he reported about Miss McCall.

##What?! I thought they had her taken care of. What have you heard about her condition?##

"Lethargy, a confirmed thousand yards stare, pallor." the resident admitted.

##That could be just shock. Not mortal or dire signs.##

Morton didn't say anything. But then he rekindled the hope Kel had for Dixie's outcome. "The person who was there was a layman. What does he know?"

##That's the spirit. I'll be right here in the E.R., Mike. Contact me anytime.  
Even if it's during emergency surgery. I want regular reports from you. ##

"You'll get them. I promise. Listen, Kel. I've got to go. I'm getting the cut throat sign from the communications officer. He's got other calls piling up."

##Remember what I said, Mike. When you see her, tell Dixie I love her. Rampart, out.## Kel replied.

Feeling ambivalent, Mike returned to the others.

"How did it go?" Emily asked him.

"For Kel, he was the raging optimist. I'm afraid I wasn't." Dr. Morton admitted.

"Not hard to understand, doc." said Chet. "Everyone knows your reputation."

Chet's sister whacked him one.

Chet reconsidered. "Oh. Sorry." then he turned back to fiddling with their radio channels.

"The truth never hurts me, Kelly." Morton said on deaf ears.

Hank wasn't even tracking the Dixie talk. He was deep into plying Dave Gordon about the chief's thinking and future actions.

Gordon was a wealth of information on that. "He was pretty steamed that all of his fire department birds were grounded. So he's made some phone calls out of state to get additional help."

"Do you know to whom he called?" Cap wondered.

"Not a clue. He used the term, "Other agency." Dave replied.

"Well, that doesn't help any. That's a general term used in report writing that could mean anything. EMS, Fire, Police, The Army, The National Guard.." Cap listed off on his fingers in frustration.

"ABC.." Chet added.

"What?" Hank blinked.

Kelly just smiled. "We can always make a trade with that television journalist film crew. Say, exclusive interviews with us for an illegal covert eye-reporter mission to the vet hosp-"

"No." Cap glared. "We will not endanger the public. We will not take advantage of stupid."

"Just a thought." Kelly shrugged.

"It's highly attractive, I know, but..." Cap's eyes drifted off. "...no." he said with finality.

"Bummer." said Chet's sister. "They just might have pulled it off, too."

Cap made a face at her for tempting him greatly.

It was almost noon, and Patty Burns had long since been extubated.

Barney Coolidge was there with Brice when she calmly woke up from her medicated stupor. Barney held out his hands protectively to her when she automatically tried to sit up. "Whoa.. whoa whoa. No need to answer the phone. We're closed." he joked.

Craig Brice studied his patient's face closely as he took a pulse at her wrist.  
"How are you feeling?"

"B-Better." she croaked. "So my arm's really broken?" she asked, peering at it sticking out of its splint and sling.

"Does that bother you still?" Brice tested.

"Not really. I still feel kind of ...far away."

"That's okay for now. And I suspect you're thinking that, too, Miss Burns."

She nodded yes. Then she started slowly looking around. "What happened to us?"

Barney replied cheerfully. "Mudslide, my dear. California's brand of Mother Nature at her best. Looks like we get to pick out some new curtains for a replacement clinic somewhere else next month."

"Oh, that's nice." Patty said vaguely.

Brice smiled, sharing an amused look with Barney. "She can be alone now.  
We'll keep that O2 on for just a bit longer until she's all there."

The vet nodded his head.

Roy DeSoto was helping Mike Stoker and Marco Lopez find a stable way out through an exterior wall that overlooked their moving mudflow. It ended up being a shattered bay window to the right of where the main entrance to the vet hospital used to be.

"Will those stokes fit through there?" DeSoto asked the engineer, pointing.

"Yeah, I think so. We can use that support beam for a pulley point." he agreed, banging on it with a broken pipe to test its strength of attachment to the rest of the building.

Lopez began to use a mop bucket as a battering ram to smash away remnants of the glass still around the window to get rid of any remaining splinters and shards.

He started to step out onto the apparent sidewalk when Roy pulled him back in. He pointed down. Marco looked and saw mud oozing up through the cracks in the walkway like lava.

"That only looks solid. It could give way."

"You're right. Thanks, Roy." Marco said, looking pale.

"Anytime."

The three firemen headed back inside to go tell the others about the egress.

It was Sam's turn to be Dixie's lungs for the hour. Her color had improved to fair but her consciousness level was diminishing into what they all feared was a growing coma. Her gag reflex was completely absent and her pupils were beginning to become sluggish to light.

"Isn't that the medication?" Vince asked Johnny when he checked her eyes out once again for signs of awareness.

"It could be, but it's also very unlikely. Valium metabolized is burned off pretty fast. Her condition is probably all neurological deficit now."

"I'm sorry." Howard apologized.

Gage sighed tiredly. "We're not giving up hope yet. Lightning victims usually make a rapid recovery if they survive the first 24 hours. Dixie's only in the fifth hour since getting struck. Arc shocking takes a while to dissipate.  
There are metabolic changes that have to be countered, burns still have to come out, along with cardiac irregularities like the one that made her arrest initially."

"Quincy called it a PVC." the police officer remembered.

"Yeah. That's the heart getting mad. Mad enough to quit as we paramedics like to say."

"She didn't throw many."

"Let's hope those are over. Her next hurdle will be the reaction of her heart itself to getting jolted by electricity. For that's like a crush injury. There's a... protein that shows up in the blood whenever the heart suffers oxygen deprivation. This Bywaters' syndrome can shut down your kidneys in a couple of hours once it begins if it doesn't get treated with dialysis right away." Gage shared tiredly. "That could be why she's in a comatose sink now."

Vince suddenly looked up, his face looking drawn and thoughtful.  
"You know, I don't think I want to hear any more about complications. I'm going to try to get a radio signal out again. It looks like the rain's starting to let up a bit." Howard said, leaving his chair.

Sharon Walters had fallen asleep on top of her box refuge and so had Boot,  
who was now nestled in her arms inside of a warm blanket. In their dreams,  
they had managed to find escape from reality.

But then reality began to bite down. Hard.

The gentle shuddering and flowing they all were growing used to suddenly turned into tremendous jolts as the concrete and wood flooring beneath their feet began to strike submerged cars passing underneath it from the parking lot. It was the ugly sound of stone on steel.

Boom! Boom!... Thudddd. *Squuuuuueaakkk kk kk*

"Everybody hang tight!" Stoker yelled.

And then the roof came down.

Photo: Gage knocked down into the dirt.

Photo: A collapsing mountain.

Photo: A partially buried shopping mall.

Photo: Les Taylor and Dave Gordon talking.

Photo: An active radio mic and receiver.

Photo: Animal Hospital Secretary Patty Burns.

**************************************************   
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Subject: Over The Waves Sent:Fri 5/10/13 11:31 AM

In the canteen tent, Chet finally heard a voice that he had been seeking by scanning different bands on the H.T.

##...fficer Vince Howard. Can anybody hear me?##

He almost dropped the radio. "Cap! It's Vince! Listen..."

##...*pop* ...collapsed roof. I can't find the oth- *static*-##

"Give it here. That's on police band?" he asked.

Kelly nodded, passing off the handy talkie to Cap.

Cap spoke. "Vince, Hank Stanley. Whatever you do, keep transmitting. We'll be able to triangulate your position that way!" he shot to his feet and all but ran to the Communications tent with the others close behind.

Hank rushed up to the radio operator in charge. "I got them on Police band. Can you boost this signal?" he said, slapping the radio into the man's hand.

"This is police band?" asked the head radio officer.

"Yes!" Chet said.

The man read the dial Kelly had chosen and then picked up the global intercom microphone. "Break. Break. Break. Victim contact. All responders tune your bricks to Police 2 to assist their repeater positioning. I repeat switch to Police 2 to aid our finding their coordinates. Maintain radio silence."

Soon, the hum of matched channels filled the area with a low squelching whine that soon faded away as adjustments were made.

Vince's voice was magnified throughout Incident Command and bounced eerily around the tents and emergency vehicles on standby. ## ..rain has stopped. *crackle*... in critical condition. The building foundation is rafting into the canyon at about a foot every thirty seconds...##

Then the fire department Incident Commander's voice broke in on top of his.  
##This is I.C.1 to Deputy Howard. We copy you and have obtained your position.  
Your current situation is understood. Can you respond victim numbers?##

The news crew's excited chatter prompted a bunch of firefighters to hiss at them so everyone could hear.

##.. Copy th- Ten... and a dog... *Bark!*..##

The whole tent erupted in cheers. Even before all the fervor died away,  
truly effective rescue work was already underway.

Johnny Gage awoke to almost pure darkness. He rolled off of his back on the muddy floor and sat up. Then full awareness returned. "Oh, no. Dixie!"  
he shouted. "Dixie?" His hand struck the edge of the homemade stokes that Mike had made for her with a painful bang. He swiftly felt up her body to her head and chest area and stopped.

She was breathing.

::Oh, thank G*d.:: he thought, sagging over her in relief.

Johnny made sure her oral airway was still in place, before he began shouting for the others. He was dimly aware that above his head, the false ceiling that had given way had tented bizarrely into a upside down V around the surgical bay room, filling the space with thick plaster dust. "Everybody! *cough* Sound off!"

Soon, one by one, the others replied and finally Brice. "I'm here. And Miss Burns."

Marco's voice added more. "But Boot's missing."

"So's Vince." said Stoker. "I think he was outside with the radio."

"Okay, uh.. We'll worry about them later." Johnny said, dragging Dixie's stokes behind him as they all gathered into a circle small enough so all of their flashlights lit their faces. Everybody was the same color. Shiny mud brown.

"How's Dixie?" Roy asked, pulling an oxygen cylinder and the demand valve into their midst so they could take turns taking in clean breaths off of it.

"Alive. Her respirations are back." Johnny replied, keep a hand on her carotid pulse.  
He took his turn to suck in some oxygen as the tank was passed around.

"About time." Sam Fujiyama coughed. His planted flashlight lit up his face eerily.  
"I'm positive that I pumped in all the air of California into her. That's enough."  
he said, showing them his badly cramp twisted fingers.

Quincy groaned painfully as he finished wrapping a bandage around his own arm.  
"Oo, that smarts." he muttered.

"Quincy?" Sam startled when he noticed.

"It's nothing. An ugly abrasion. So what's next, fellas?" the coroner asked.

"We get out of here. All this dust can't be good for us." Roy replied. "Come on. It's this way. Somebody help Patty and Barney into their stokes. They're coming with us. Johnny?"

"Yeah."

"Are you okay? For a while there you weren't answering us." DeSoto asked.

"I was disoriented for a few seconds. But I feel fine. Nothing hurts." he gasped.  
"I'm just a little filthier, that's all." he said, climbing on his hands and knees through the glop.

The others commiserated with coughs and nods of sympathy.

They finally climbed out through the open window and into thick fog that covered them like a net. They set their three stokes down onto the thicker porch concrete slab where Vince was standing with his radio.

Boot greeted them happily, visiting each of the injured in turn with nose nudges and tail wags.

The cloud light was gray and almost impenetrable. And blessedly rainless.

Vince smiled. "I got through. They're coming." he reported. "Is everybody all right? I figured things were fine when I heard folks taking a fast head count."

"Everybody's still here." said Brice.

Sharon Walters was the last to leave the shattered vet hospital. She squinted in the cool, diffuse light, then sat cross legged on top of the collapsed roof's shingles next to Dixie to place her back on an oxygen mask. She wasn't saying much.

Gage joined her to make sure Dixie was still maintaining. "I know how you feel, Sharon. Shell shocked, a little numb, a little mad at the world. Because that's how I felt yesterday when that pitch black gun muzzle was aiming at my face for six hours straight. We'll get through this. We're not dead yet. But now it's time for me to hold you up." he said softly, taking her into a gentle hug of comfort. Sharon's tears were dried up, but not her brand new fountain of fear. Not yet. She accepted his embrace with detached, pain dulled, eyes.

Then the coroner spotted something coming out of the charcoal sky.

Pendulous, reverse tear dropped figures were drifting downwards in formation.  
"Well I'll be damned." Quincy said, chuckling.

"They sent in smoke jumpers." marveled Roy.

"Why not? Planes fly even through hurricanes." Brice smiled.  
Then he stood and started waving their rescuers in.

-  
Photo: A flooded rooftop.

Photo: Vince, Johnny and Roy searching outside.

Photo: An arm getting bandaged.

Photo: Quincy at night.

Photo: Smoke jumpers coming in for a landing.

Photo: An E and J demand valve resuscitator.

Photo: Roy and Johnny looking up into the sky in amazement.

**************************************************   
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Subject: Like Panama Canal..  
Sent:Sat 5/11/13 2:45 AM

The first parachuted firefighter landed on the roof deftly, using the areas that Brice had indicated as still being safe. He pulled out a cherry smoke marker so the man behind him could see his landing a little better in the soupy fog.

Johnny, Roy, Marco and Stoker were familiar with the dangers the jumpers faced. Together they helped smother and trample each man's chute as he landed before the wind had a chance to pull them off the building and into the deadly mudslide around them.

The two jumpers released their harnesses and immediately got on their radioes. "We're down. Stand by for a torpedo line!" Then they began to unpack some very technical rescue gear that they had carried with them from the plane.

##Aerial Two, we copy. Ready to receive on your mark.##

"Wow.." said DeSoto, impressed, when a shoulder launcher, long distance lay lines, and other eye/sight devices were laid out.

The first jumper smiled and took his palm into a handshake greeting.  
"Lt. Gregory, lead smoke jumper and captain of L.A. County's Swift Water Rescue Team."

Johnny tried to get Sharon to smile with him at their benefactors' arrival, by sweeping some hair out of her eyes gently. "Swift water?" he murmured, surprised.

"Yeah." replied Gregory. "Why not? It's still the same set of problems.  
Only mud's not as..." he smiled. "...swift." he joked. "What hazards do we have besides the obvious?" he blinked.

Gage replied. "Mainly surgery gas tanks. Some may be leaking. The false ceiling gave way in there."

"So definitely no campfires. We'll keep our radio use to a minimum and upwind to prevent triggering an explosive with static electricity." promised the lieutenant.

The younger fireman introduced himself. "I'm Kane. I take it you four are the trained ones with the department?"

"Uh, five actually." said Brice. "But I'm not healthy yet. I'm still sort of walking wounded from dealing with this stuff." he said, pointing out to the slick mud river pulling the vet hospital's foundation along. "About our victims. She's first."  
he said about Dixie. "She might lose breathing ability again. Metabolic coma."

Roy added more. "This one's a head injury. Concussion, back of head. It would be better if he's not made to walk any more. The younger female's a compounded lower arm fracture. The rest of us are just minor cuts and bruises and general muscle fatigue. We won't be able to help you much with our hands. We had a lot of resuscitation support to do earlier and some of us had a very long day yesterday."

"I saw the news." said the lieutenant sympathetically. "Hang tight. We'll handle all set up for these stretchered folks a.s.a.p once we get a line across to others on the far bank of the slide."

Gage was making a face. "Hang on. Just,.. wait a minute. We aren't on solid land here. We're moving. Just how the h*ll are you going to keep the rope from snapping once it's been tied off due to stretch?"

"That's why we're here." said Gregory, pointing to the patch on his jumpsuit.  
"You see, my buddy's also a hydrology engineer. He's calculating flow speed and direction right now with that sight against those cliff tops." he said, pointing to the laser viewer the man was using. "And because this is mud flowing down hill over a flat level parking lot, those vectors aren't going to deviate that much. You see, the other end of our relay rope's going to be tied to an Addison that'll be rolling down the roadway that flanks this canyon, while keeping up with us."

"Matching velocities." Roy grinned. "Johnny, that's the same thing as holding still. It'll be no different at all from our usual high angle stokes recovery operations. Maybe a little breezier. Like mules pulling barges along the Panama Canal."

Gage coughed out some left over dust. "Way over my head."

"No, way over the mud's." DeSoto joked. "Gentlemen, we'll go get them ready with fresh O2 masks and tanks."

"Here are some life belts, helmets, and carabiners. Use these tarps to cover the victims' faces for protection in case it starts raining again."

Soon, using their radioes and the torpedo rope launcher, a string was shot over to the unseen ladder truck crew pacing them. It was found and retrieved by a line of runners on foot. Soon, the light shooting line was safely taken up and replaced with the thicker belay rope that was securely anchored up to the operator basket of the vertically extended ladder on the moving fire truck.

"How far are they from us?" Brice asked.

"About thirty yards." replied the younger man.

Roy eyed up Gregory. "Can this line take two at a time?"

"One belted and one stokes. That's all. Nothing over three hundred eighty pounds total. Any more weight and the sag in the middle might drag some feet into the mud." he replied.

Roy planned quickly.  
"Okay, Brice. Go with Dixie. Marco, then you with Miss Burns. Coolidge will have to be line ferried alone. He's a big man."

"What about Boot?" Sharon piped up, holding the soggy dog in her arms for comfort.

"He can ride with Dixie. He's going to want to be with her anyway." Roy said.  
"Then you and Johnny can get across. Stoker can go with Quincy to show him how to crawl line using a life belt and I'll take Sam with me to do the same thing."

Kane did the math. "And then us last with Officer Howard. Seven trips? We'd better hurry. The canyon widens a half mile down and takes a turn to the right. Not even a nylon blend will handle that kind of stretch if this floater of ours swings wide to the far edge and runs aground."

Gage met in conference with the rest of the 51 crew while the jumpers made preparations. "This is one for the books. A belay from a moving, deployed ladder truck?" he fretted, scratching his mud itchy head.

"It's the only thing working." DeSoto shrugged. "The rain may be gone, but it's still far too foggy for any choppers."

Soon, Dixie's stokes was connected to the relay line hanging suspended over the mud using the vet hospital's block and tackle that Stoker had set up, fitted with a guide line.

Craig donned a provided helmet and belt and slowly followed her into the fog as the firefighters on the other side pulled her stokes towards the engine hose bed upon which they were riding.

Everyone's radioes crackled. ##HT 51. This is Dr. Morton. I've got two firefighters here with me who really want to see you when you fellas get over here. Also,  
I've got Mayfairs waiting.##

::It's Cap and Kelly!:: the 51 gang realized, almost tearing up at the thought, their PTSD effected emotions still very close to the surface.

The swiftwater team looked at each other."Now that's good medicine." grinned Gregory to Kane. "I'm glad the I.C. let them come."  
Kane nodded. "He knows what brothers need."

Five minutes later, the vet's stokes was hoisted onto the aerial line. Patty Burns waved at Barney with her good hand from her own. "See you soon. Maybe we can share a room at the hospital and plan out the new clinic's design."

"Looking forward to it." said the big man cheerily. He folded his mud speckled,  
shattered glasses into an equally caked lab coat pocket and folded his arms.  
"Okay, gentlemen. I'm ready."

Barney's basket stretcher slowly moved away from the porch slab. One hundred feet, two hundred...

Suddenly there came a shout over the radio. ## Obstacle in the way! Abort! Abort!##

A huge pine tree, still rooted to the boulevard sidewalk that was jutting up and resisting being torn down by the mud slide, appeared out of the fog from downstream like a sick slow motion dream. Its exposed crown made contact with the aerial line.

"Oh, no!" yelled Johnny and he quickly whirled Sharon around and blocked her view of the final outcome as the tree sliced the stokes rope like a hot knife through butter.

Snap!

Soundlessly, Barney Coolidge's stokes fell thirty feet and plunged into the thick,  
churning mudslide, disappearing in an instant.

Sam Fujiyama was immediately sick. He vomited and fell to his knees.

Sharon Walters fought Johnny, flailing at him in anger. "What happened? What didn't you want me to see?!" she raged.

Johnny was numb. But he spoke the horror that Walters already knew. "The line... parted. He's gone."

Kane and Gregory were stunned for just a few seconds before iron professionalism carried on. ##Aerial 1. Get spotters downstream. One in the water.##

Brice and Roy were very shocked and Craig blurted out. "There's no way he can get out from under the straps before he drowns. He went completely und-"

"Shh." DeSoto hissed, closing his eyes to seal out the memory of the splash.

Fujiyama was mumbling, crying. "They're not going to find him in time. They're not g-" He was violently sick again, losing what little food he had eaten in the night.

Quincy knelt by Sam to offer him some comfort. "I'm so sorry, Sam." The coroner knew that his assistant understood exactly what kind of death Coolidge would suffer.  
A slow one that would take many seconds to happen.

Stoker flinched as the aerial's other rope end was cut away to fall free into the mud to allow another belay set up attempt. But then he got to work clearing rope fray fibers from their block and tackle.

Kane and Gregory worked rapidly to regain their lost lifeline to the far bank without looking at their victims. Gregory finally spoke up. "We're going to finish this.  
We're going to save the rest of you all." he promised fiercely.

Soon, it was Gage and Walters turn to go. The new aerial line was humming with vibrations from the wind. When Sharon was led up to it in her lifebelt and helmet,  
it was buzzing, like an ominous, angry wasp.

"Johnny. Ican'tdothis. Don'tmakemedothis. Please." Sharon begged in a squeak,  
hot tears burning clean furrows down her muddy cheeks.

Johnny gripped her face with both hands and made eye contact only inches away from her. "Sharon. Sharon. Look at me. I'm not going to let you fall. I'll be right with you. You can keep your eyes closed the whole way.." he said soothingly and firm.

"...no." Her monosyllabic protests came verbally but physically, she cooperated as the others clipped her and Gage onto the rope and hoisted them into the air to begin the trip across. Then Walters was mute, beyond shock.

"I got her, Roy." he told Kane and Gregory. "Let's get going."

Kane cracked out the ready on his HT. "Two victims on the line! Haul out!"

##Two on. Retrieving!## came the reply back.

Sharon was gasping when they swung out over the bubbling mud and into the surrealistic ball of fog that let them see neither land nor sky. And the wind over the mudslide was biting cold.

"Sharon. Look at me. Look just at me. Don't look down. I got you and I'm not going to let go until we're there." Johnny said as they passed over the point where Barney Coolidge had fallen. Some sick part of his mind imagined a hand flailing downstream out of the mud but it was only the branch of a bush, slurried with sludge. He took solace in her brown eyes as autopilot kicked in. His surroundings shrank down into tunnel vision and all sounds grew distant. "I love you. I love you.. ...i...love...you.u..u..."

Then they were there, a sharp grab on his pants legs by reaching firefighters snapped him out of it. In his arms, he realized that Sharon had fainted mercifully a few minutes ago, somewhere along that horribly lonely line. He felt her breath.  
"She's okay. She's fine. Just let us down." he told them.

Once Sharon was loaded into an ambulance, he turned to Dr. Morton. "How's Dixie?"

"She woke up for me with a little epinephrine. Long enough to focus on my eyes so I could deliver to her a very personal message." he grinned.

Gage smiled. "Kind of like mine for Sharon?"

"Yeah." he chuckled. "Now let's go meet the others. You can ride in with Walters after the EMTs get her comfortable."

Cap, Marco and Chet appeared like mirages from the murk.

"Hey, Pally." said Hank said, a loaned out Captain's helmet on his head. It looked incongruous over his wrinkled blue, black and white plaid shirt. But his happy grin more than made up for it.

"Saved you some pizza." Chet said, holding out a very sorry looking bag.

Johnny choked down a single sob, covered his mouth with a hand, and took him into a huge bear hug. "It's so good to see you on your feet again, Chet.  
I've missed you."

"Likewise, Gage. But gee, do I suddenly look like Sharon to you? Back away.." he joked, not letting go.

Soon, all six of the 51 gang were sharing uninhibited embraces of intense relief and deep re-bonding. Craig Brice stood nearby and just watched, smiling softly as he petted Boot who was seated at his feet. "See that, Boot? This is how we live. And you're sure a big part of that. Why don't you go join them? You've earned it."

Boot rocketed away and soon was drawn up into the melee.

Other new paramedics briefly hovered but Dr. Morton waved them away. "They're going to be fine now, boys. I have a good feeling about that." he told them.

It was a week later at Rampart.

Dixie's bed was surrounded by Joe Early, Mike Morton and Kel.

"So how's our favorite patient?" said Early, sitting on the edge of the bed.  
"Feeling up to doing a few schedules? They're driving Carol absolutely nuts."

"Work?" McCall complained. "Are you boys going to be nice to me? My legs are still paralyzed."

"Boo!" yelled Morton into her ear suddenly.

Both her feet jumped up under her blankets as she startled.

"No, they're not." Mike said evilly.

Joe Early and Kel Brackett mirrored each other with folded arms.  
"Our head nurse?" "Telling fibs?" they both said simultaneously.

Dixie's whole body wilted dramatically onto the pillows. "Oh, I'm still really tired and don't want to go home yet."

"You're gonna be." said Kel. "You almost died."

"Twice." echoed Joe.

Dr. Morton just grinned and signed off Dixie's discharge papers with a flourish. "I'm done here. See you guys on the floors." he said and then left the room.

"I'm going with him. Seems like I've run out of patients here."  
Early said, opening his mouth up in mock at the pun.

Soon, Kel and Dixie were alone. He pulled back her bed coverings dramatically to reveal that Dixie was already fully clothed.

"You're not fooling anyone. Come on, let's go. We've been invited."

"Invited? Where?" McCall said, rising slowly from the bed around her left over aches and pains.

"You'll see." Dr. Brackett smiled, adjusting the big tie around his earth tone plaid suit, he said, as he took her arm genteelly. "And neither of us will have to pay a bill."

"Oh?"

Quincy popped his champagne bottle with his best friend and host of Danny's Restaurant, who was looking on, holding out a tray of empties,  
so he could pour out flutes of it for his new found firehouse, police, Rampart, and vet hospital friends: Les, Dave, Vince, Miss Burns, Dixie, Kel, Sharon, Station 51's A-shift plus Brice, and Sam Fujiyama.

It was every one he had been with during the past twenty four hours, save one.

"Let's toast the memory of Dr. Barney Coolidge, everybody. I'm sure he's lecturing about horse dryers in the big cloud in the sky by now, driving all the angels crazy."

Patty Burns laughed even through her grief. "And about African Pygmy goats." she said.

Dixie and all of the others laughed openly over their dinner plates.

The coroner raised his glass and so did the others. "So here's to a day in the life, for all of us, and in honor of him."

FIN

A Day In The Life, Movie Three Emergency Theater Live. 2013.

Photo: Cap on an HT by a light tower.

Photo: Roy smiling from the apparatus bay.

Photo: An empty stokes stretcher.

Photo: A paramedic helmet on a turnout coat.

Photo: Joe and Kel in suits, skeptical.

Photo: 905 Wild uniform patch.

Photo: Quincy, M.E. badge.

Photo: Sam Fujiyama, happy, pouring wine.

Photo: Danny, host of Danny's Restaurant.

Photo: Quincy grinning at his boss.

Photo: A very muddy Les Taylor.

Photo: Happy muddy Dave Gordon.

Photo: A fiery post ARKstorm Californian sunset.

************************************************** *  
***This current episode has just begun..  
***Keep watching here daily for new episode ***scene installments.

This is the pre-production period for..

Season Nine, Episode Fifty Six A Day In The Life

Debut Writing in Progress Launch : July 1st, 2011.

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Emergency Theater Live =+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+ Host- Patti Keiper in the United States . Emergency Theater Live Homepage

group/emergencytheaterlive Writer's Pre-Production Distribution Site /  
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Mark VII Productions , NBC , and Universal owns all of Emergency! and its Characters. 2013 . _

***NOTE: All author writings submitted to the theater will be set free onto the web to reach as many readers as we can manage to find. Contributing to any ETL episode means that has permission to publish your work in the manner presented here on this website and on text versions of the stories on other sites. All web audience writers or volunteer consultants and their corresponding emails will be duly recorded and left in place within each show's music and imaged airing episode, pointing out that fan or professional EMS personnel's creative contribution. Theater Host- Emergency Theater Live! ..

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